Don't You Love Farce?
by CruorLuna
Summary: A Blake Collins/OC fic. An unexpected meeting could change the life of the Director of MSA, but knowing his luck, something will inevitably go wrong. What kind of impact will this stranger have, and can Blake keep her around for long enough to find out?
1. Howl At The Stars

**A/N: **I don't know how many people will be reading this, but so far I've been having a lot of fun writing it and so I thought I'd post anyway! It's a Blake Collins centric fic featuring an OC love interest, with lots of Blake/Chase brotherly … stuff – some fluff, some angst, some general banter – and plenty of appearances by Andie, Moose and co. This first chapter is set partway through Step Up 2, after the MSA Crew is formed but before they go down to the Dragon the first time. Thoughts are always appreciated, and I'll try to keep updates as frequent as I can!

Oh, and the title is a line from Stephen Sondheim's _Send In The Clowns_, from the Broadway show _A Little Night Music_. I get a lot of my best writing inspiration from listening to show tunes and the background for the OC in this fic was inspired in part by the themes of this song and by Desirée, the character who sings it. Just a bit of random trivia! Enjoy!

* * *

"I'd say tonight's a roaring success, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh yes, Mother, it's a treat," Blake Collins sighed, emptying his glass of champagne with a heavy sigh. Rebecca Collins shot her eldest son a sharp glance and sniffed.

"Well no need to be sarcastic, dear," she informed him tartly. "I'll have you know a lot of work went into making this party special for you, and all you've done since getting here is skulk in a corner and ignore everyone who turned up to wish you a happy birthday!"

"All right, first of all, most of them don't know me from Adam," Blake corrected her coolly, casting his eye suspiciously over a couple passing by who were eyeing his mother's silverware in a way he didn't care for. "At least not personally. Maybe one or two recognise me from the stage or as the Director of MSA, **maybe**. And second of all, I have done more than skulk in the corner. I have drunk three glasses of champagne, I have eaten several dozen miniature lobster rolls, and I have spoken with Chase."

"Oh, well aren't you a prince?" Rebecca simpered, and he rolled his eyes.

"I've also spoken with you and Dad."

"Mother Theresa herself would be envious."

"May I ask you something?" Blake hissed out of the corner of his mouth, smiling a false smile at a couple of older gentlemen he was fairly sure he had never met before. "How exactly do you rationalise being so critical of my sarcasm when this is how you speak?"

"Simple, Blake: I'm your mother," Rebecca reminded him with a chilling smile. "I don't have to rationalise anything. Now go and mingle with the guests while I drag your father away from the bar."

"Oh, just leave him there," sighed Blake, straightening his tie and abandoning his empty glass on the kitchen counter. "It would make life a lot easier," he added under his breath as he entered his parents' living room, shaking hands with one of his father's old friends and apologising, but no, he wasn't sure where Charles had disappeared to.

"Having fun?" his younger brother Chase asked with a smirk as Blake joined him by one of the rented tables, draped in a white tablecloth with some hideous silver centrepiece. Blake hailed a passing waiter and nabbed another glass of champagne, sipping on it gladly.

"Truckloads," he deadpanned, grimacing as yet another gaggle of unfamiliar women floated by the table, giggling and pointing at him, flipping their hair and wiggling their fingers alternately. "Tell me something, Chase: have the women of our parents' acquaintance become younger and denser, or am I just getting old?"

"I don't think that's an 'either or' scenario, bro," Chase grinned, not managing to avoid Blake's subtle and well-placed elbow to the stomach. "_Ow_!"

"One of these days, that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble."

"As long as she's hot," shrugged the younger Collins, causing Blake to choke on his mouthful of champagne. Chase snorted gleefully, clapping his reddening brother on the shoulder. "Lighten up, B!"

"Don't call me that," Blake told him sternly. "You know I hate it."

"Which seems as good a reason as any to keep doing it," mused Chase, all mock sincerity.

"I cannot believe she actually went ahead with this charade," complained Blake, choosing to ignore his brother's childishness for the moment. "I told her specifically that I did not want one of her ridiculous formal parties where I would have nobody to talk to."

"I think that's why I'm here."

"How long before it's no longer rude for me to leave?" Blake queried, draining his glass and setting it down on the table slightly more forcefully than he had intended.

"Well you're the guest of honour, and the party's only been going on for an hour, so I'd say it'll be a while," Chase advised. "I, on the other hand, can sneak out in about … fifteen minutes or so."

"You wouldn't."

"Not just would – will," Chase corrected him. "I made plans."

"You made plans on the night of my birthday party?" echoed Blake. "No really, Chase, I insist, don't make a fuss …"

"You hate birthdays," his brother pointed out knowingly. "And the only thing you hate more than birthdays is Mom's idea of a fun birthday party. I assumed you'd either sneak away yourself or … get drunk. And while that's something I've still never seen and would love to, something tells me you won't do it in front of Mom and Dad, so my hope of any entertainment is gone."

"You're several rungs below amusing," Blake informed him with one eyebrow raised. "So where could be so interesting that you're slipping out early?"

"I'm meeting Andie," shrugged Chase.

"Ah, I see – are you two going shopping for wife-beaters together?"

"Why do you hate her?" demanded the younger Collins, lowering his voice when one or two guests turned to them curiously.

"I do not hate Andie," Blake shrugged. "I think she has potential as a dancer. As a person, that's debatable. And quite frankly she's the least committed student I've ever met. She cares nothing for her future and certainly not for her school. But I never said I hated her."

"No, you're right – I can't imagine what gave me that impression," Chase replied scornfully, shaking his head and tugging at his tie uncomfortably.

"I don't deny she's good at what she does, Chase. I'm just waiting for her to do something to convince me that she's even remotely interested in being good at anything else."

"What's so wrong with just loving what she does, when she's so good at it?"

"Nothing, but if she's happy to remain on her current plateau and rely on the skills she already has, then I suggest you advise her to give up her place at MSA for somebody who will appreciate the opportunity given them," Blake snapped.

"She does appreciate it," Chase argued.

"She has a funny way of showing it."

"How would you know? You spend all your time trying to change her," Chase bit back, his temper beginning to show. "You just want her to become another one of your clones; your perfect little ballerinas. Well just because she's different, doesn't make her inferior, _B_."

"MSA is not somewhere for her to hide out so that she can avoid her other problems," Blake replied, eyes flashing dangerously. "If she really wants to be there, she'll start applying herself properly, and if not, she'll do us all a favour and leave before too much more time passes and give someone else the benefit of almost a full year with us."

"You're just giving up on her, then?"

"I have no time for someone who has already given up on herself!"

"Boys!" Rebecca called shrilly across the room from the patio doors, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. "What on earth are you arguing about?"

"Nothing, Mom," Chase assured her, shooting her a winning smile.

"Blake?"

"Nothing," he echoed, gritting his teeth in annoyance as Chase slung a 'friendly' arm around his shoulder. Their mother shot them both a warning glare before disappearing outside, and Chase removed his arm quickly.

"I've done my time," he informed his brother snidely. "Happy birthday, or whatever."

"Please, stop: your emotion is embarrassing me," Blake quipped with an eye-roll.

"Well I'll be done 'embarrassing' you before you know it," hissed Chase angrily. "See you at school on Monday, _your Majesty_." Blake very nearly retorted with 'It's Director Collins,' but managed to stop himself just in time, clamping his jaw shut and steadfastly avoiding watching his brother ascend the stairs to change.

"Happy birthday, Blake!" another man he only knew by sight told him, clapping him on the shoulder with a hearty smile as he passed.

"Thank you very much," Blake responded mechanically, making his way swiftly towards the outdoor patio, snaring another glass of champagne on his way. He kept to the shadows along the side of the house, avoiding his mother by a hair's breadth and slipping away from the fairy lights draping their two large willows for the occasion. He meandered down the grass, following what had once been a path, before his parents had removed the yellowish slabs upon which he and Chase had used to play at being in Munchkinland. He couldn't really call his brother a Munchkin now, he supposed. Only seventeen and he was easily a head taller than his just-turned-twenty-seven brother. Blake snorted to himself, making for the shadowy outline of a tall birch tree, beyond which lay their small gazebo. It was hard for him to believe Chase was seventeen already. Soon his younger brother would be going off – to London, or New York, or somewhere fabulous like Moscow – and having adventures just as Blake had done before him. But Chase would be able to live his own life, Blake mused regretfully, and not feel obligated to return to Baltimore like the perfect son Blake tried to be. So wrapped up in his thoughts was he, that he didn't even notice the woman sitting on the bench in the gazebo until she spoke, drawing him from his musings.

"I'm sorry," she apologised softly, standing and smoothing down a deep blue dress. "I didn't think anybody else would be out here."

"No, I'm sorry," Blake returned quickly, gesturing for her to sit down again. "Please. I didn't mean to disturb. Like you, I didn't expect to run into company."

"You looked like you were far away," she observed, and he quirked a half-smile.

"More like long ago," he told her, and she nodded as though she completely understood. Blake hesitated a moment, debating leaving her to her solitude, but, reluctant to return to the party just yet, he opted instead to lean against one of the glass walls and take another sip of the champagne. "How are you enjoying the party?" he asked politely, deciding that small talk with one polite woman was better than accepting false congratulations and fielding dance requests from dozens of ill-mannered ones.

"Oh, it's … lovely," she nodded, and Blake snorted at her vague response. She raised her eyebrows in question, and he held up his free hand in an apology.

"Sorry," he repeated, beginning to feel like a parrot. "It's just that you're not a very good liar." She laughed then, showing a dazzling smile that took Blake quite aback, and he blinked slightly in surprise as she tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear.

"No, it really is a lovely party," she repeated with more conviction. "I just don't really know anyone. I've felt a bit out of the loop all night."

"I know the feeling," Blake assured her dryly, and she smiled up at him.

"You're the first person I've met who hasn't asked how I know the wonderful Blake Collins," she noted with a small laugh, and Blake fought to keep his features neutral.

"I presumed, since you just said you don't know anybody, that perhaps you don't know him," he ventured, choosing his words carefully.

"You presumed correctly," the woman agreed. "I'm sorry if he's a friend of yours – I didn't mean to sound callous. I'm sure he's a perfectly nice man. I just can't believe all these people would turn up to wish one man a happy birthday – a _ballerina_, no less. I mean, it's not very masculine, is it?" Blake laughed aloud in surprise at that, pushing off from the wall and sitting beside her on the bench, knowing he was doing a terrible job at concealing his smirk.

"I suppose it's not," he concurred thoughtfully.

"Oh, I'm sorry – let me guess. You're a dancer too," the woman predicted, shaking her head despairingly. "I always do this: speak before thinking, and offend people before they even get to know me. Just part of the reason I'm hiding out here," she confided in an undertone, and Blake smiled softly. "So are you a dancer?"

"I'm a teacher," Blake told her, not technically lying but feeling a slight twinge of guilt at deceiving her nonetheless.

"Oh! I always wanted to teach," she admitted with a wistful sigh. "I thought it'd be a great way to give something back, you know? But I guess it wasn't meant to be."

"So what do you do?"

"I'm an anthropologist," she told him, smiling then. "Don't get me wrong; I **love** my job, I do. I just always wondered … why are you smirking like that?" she asked, frowning.

"I'm sorry, you just … you don't look like an anthropologist," Blake grinned, and she raised her eyebrows then.

"And what does an anthropologist look like?" she demanded, a smile playing on the corners of her lips.

"Claude Lévi-Strauss?" he offered, and she burst into surprised laughter once more.

"Well plastic surgery has been a godsend," she assured him with a shake of her head, sending her curls bouncing. "So you know anthropology?"

"No, you've about exhausted my knowledge of the subject," Blake confessed with a grimace. "I know it comes from the Greek _anthrõpos_, meaning 'man,' and –_logia_, meaning 'discourse' or 'study.' After that I'm pretty much tapped out."

"You're still ahead of the curve," the woman assured him, sounding impressed. "Are you a classics teacher, then? Linguistics?"

"I spent some time in Greece a few years ago," Blake explained, still avoiding admitting who he was for some reason he wasn't quite sure he understood himself. "I picked up a little of the language – a very little, I hasten to add! What I just told you was a poor man's attempt at an educated guess."

"Well I would hate to play poker with you!" she laughed. "You bluff very well."

"A skill honed to a fine art by working with teenagers."

"I can only imagine," she nodded. "So what brings you here tonight? Are you close with the guest of honour?"

"It's a family connection," Blake offered, and she seemed to accept his vague explanation. "What about you, since we've established you don't know him?"

"My sister brought me as her plus-one," she sighed. "I wasn't sure if I should come, but she promised me free champagne and good company … she delivered on the first," she added with a laugh. "As to the second, things are beginning to look up." Blake felt a surprised smile spreading over his features then, and she grinned shyly. "Truth be told I think she had to make some calls to get invited, hard as it is to imagine that the whole of Baltimore isn't here."

"Your sister has some special interest at the party?" Blake queried, frowning as he tried to picture any of the guests with a resemblance to her and came up blank.

"Well, just between us, I think she was hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous Blake Collins," she confided in a stage whisper. "She's a **huge** ballet aficionado. I think she was hoping their eyes would meet across a plate of lobster rolls and he'd fall head over heels in love with her." Blake couldn't contain his amused snort then, and she joined him in his laughter, shaking her head. "I know, I make her sound pathetic, don't I? But she's surprisingly skilled at meeting men who should, by any logic, be completely out of her league. You just wait and see – she's probably in there right now, picking out china patterns from the mother's collection."

"Oh, I doubt it," Blake commented dryly, and she shot him a sideways glance.

"Do you know something I don't?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well for one, I have it on good authority I ate the last of the lobster rolls half an hour ago," Blake informed her, and she laughed merrily again.

"Then tonight is not her lucky night," she sighed dramatically, before grinning broadly and offering her hand. "I'm sorry; I haven't introduced myself. I'm Kitty Patterson."

"Blake Collins," he told her, shaking her hand and struggling to contain his smirk as her mouth dropped open in outrage. For a moment he was sure she was going to slap him, but then she let out a groan and dropped her head into her hands, laughing resignedly.

"I told you!" she moaned, lifting her head long enough to shoot him a self-deprecating grin. "It never fails! I open my mouth, shove my foot right in there, and just keep going!"

"Which must hurt in those heels," Blake mused. She groaned again and whacked him lightly in the arm, letting out a long breath before closing her eyes and taking what he assumed were meant to be several calming breaths. She then turned to him, her wide smile fixed firmly in place, and offered her hand to him once more.

"I'd very much like to start over, Mr Collins," she told him. "If we could just pretend none of this happened …"

"Well, it's Blake, Ms Patterson," Blake corrected her gently, taking her hand, "and I'm afraid I can't do that. This has been the most fun I've had all night. I'd be quite upset if you were to ask me to ignore that." A flush crept over her cheeks as they shook hands, and as she dropped his, she tucked the same loose curl behind her ear once more.

"Kitty," she smiled. "Call me Kitty … Blake."

"All right."

"You know, I've heard quite a lot about you tonight," she mused slowly. "I've heard about Blake Collins, the legend. Blake Collins, the ballet hero. Blake Collins, the best Director MSA has seen in decades. And yet nobody mentioned your sense of humour."

"It's the best kept secret in dance," he nodded wisely, drawing another laugh from her.

"So what reason could the great Blake Collins have to hide out here at his own party?" she asked, a hint of teasing in her tone, but not mocking, which was a refreshing change from Chase, Blake thought. "Avoiding sycophants like my poor sister, who now doesn't stand a chance after what I've said about her?"

"Well no offence to your sister, but I was already wary of every woman at this party," Blake admitted. "My mother is trying to marry me off."

"I'm sure she's not short of applicants."

"Unfortunately," he agreed with a grimace. "None of them women who have actually met me, I must point out. Apparently actually knowing somebody is less of a consideration than I'd always thought when choosing a life partner."

"And your Mom's happy enough to pimp you out to these women?" Kitty queried, eyebrows raised in surprise. Blake smiled slightly at her interesting choice of phrasing.

"There are very few lengths to which my mother will not go to see me married by age thirty," he informed her with a grim smile, and hers faltered.

"I think she and my sister would get on well," she confessed.

"I just dread the day I finally do decide to settle down. If she's this bad now, I don't want to think about how impossible she'll become when she has a wedding to plan or grandchildren to prepare for."

"My, aren't we the optimist?" Kitty taunted, and he laughed.

"I see you don't feel the need every other guest here tonight does to feed my ego on my birthday," he noted dryly, but she shrugged unabashedly.

"If that's true, your ego certainly won't need any help," was all she said.

"My brother would certainly agree with you there," Blake agreed.

"I hear a story behind that."

"Oh, a very long-winded, stereotypical story," he sighed. "I'm ten years older than Chase, so although we were friends growing up, I think he always looked up to me. I left for London when he was eight, and he's never entirely forgiven me for that. Now I'm back and running the school where he's a student, and I think making things as difficult for him as my father made them for me growing up."

"I'm sure that's not true," Kitty brushed his concerns off, shaking her head firmly. "I did meet your brother earlier, for a few minutes. He said he was there for moral support, and when Rosie – my sister – asked why, he said because he's your brother."

"And because Collins family parties are not optional."

"Boy, you're just a little ray of sunshine, aren't you?" she joked, and he cracked a smile. "There, that's better! Now I don't know your brother, and I don't know you very well, but I think you're giving him less credit than he deserves. That's my opinion."

"Your professional opinion?" Blake quipped.

"Wow, you really don't know much about anthropology, do you?"

"I'm woefully ignorant," he admitted readily, and she laughed.

"Well I can talk about my field for hours and not get bored, so if you ever decide to take an interest, just let me know," she instructed him. He glanced sideways at her.

"I'm interested," he told her.

"What – now?" Kitty asked, her eyes widening fractionally. "But this is your party."

"Notice how nobody has come looking for me yet?" he pointed out, and she jerked a nod of acquiescence. "I know a bar a few streets over," he suggested, surprised to hear the words leaving his mouth and wondering if the five glasses of champagne he had consumed were behind them. "Would you like to get a drink?" Kitty stared at him for a few moments, uncertainty etched into her features, before she broke out into a beam.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

**A/N:** All right, so there's chapter one! Obviously the character of Kitty will be more thoroughly explored as the fic goes on, and it'll start to tie in more with the timeline of the film after the first few chapters. As I said, I'd love to hear any thoughts you may have, and I'll try to update soon!

Trivia: The chapter title _Howl At The Stars_ is a line from the title song of Andrew Lloyd Webber's hit musical, _Whistle Down The Wind_. As I said, a LOT of my inspiration comes from this kind of music, and I thought being that there's going to be quite a lot of artsy stuff in this fic that using these lines as chapter titles would be appropriate.


	2. Everybody Loves A Winner

**A/N:** All right, so here's chapter two! It follows straight on from chapter one, and the next one will be similarly close in timing, but after that the pace should pick up some.  
Obviously I own nothing, including the chapter title _Everybody Loves A Winner_, which this time is taken from the famous song _Maybe This Time_ from the musical _Cabaret_. The line continues with 'So nobody loved me,' which in some ways resonates with these two characters and in others not at all, hence why I cut the line for the title. But it's interesting to know it, in case you want to look for any symmetry!

* * *

"I think we're a little overdressed," Kitty whispered loudly to Blake, smiling politely at the only other patrons of the bar they had just entered – three elderly men sitting on stools along the bar, all of whom had turned to leer at her as soon as they had walked through the door. Blake moved a hand to the small of her back and steered her towards a table in the corner determinedly, not releasing his slightly possessive hold on her until he was sure the others had all turned away and she was sitting down.

"This place isn't known for its upscale clientele, but they have great scotch and you're always guaranteed a quiet table," he explained with a half-smile, taking her coat and placing it with his own on the empty chair beside him, opting to sit directly opposite her.

"You're a scotch man, then?" she asked with a smile.

"I don't drink a whole lot, tonight being the exception rather than the rule," he assured her. "It's just that my mother has that effect on me. But when I do drink, I enjoy a nice glass of wine or a good scotch."

"I always liked gin and tonic, myself," she mused.

"Well then can I get you a gin and tonic?"

"No," she shook her head. "My dad always drank scotch and I wondered what the fuss was all about. I'd like to try it."

"Are you sure?" Blake checked, his expression sceptical. "If you've never had it …"

"I'm a big girl, Blake," Kitty informed him with an amused smirk. "I can handle it."

"All right," he chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender and grabbing his wallet. "I'll be right back." He crossed to the bar and ordered them two expensive glasses of scotch, handing over a note and returning to the table with their drinks in hand. He held hers out to her, and she accepted it slowly as he reclaimed his seat. He watched her for a few moments, smiling as she swirled the amber liquid in the glass apprehensively. "It's not going to bite," he told her gently, and she caught his eye with a rueful smile.

"Right," she agreed, sounding less than certain. "Well … happy birthday?" she offered, raising her glass to him in a toast. Blake smiled, clinking his own lightly against it.

"Thank you," he acknowledged, finding it a lot less forced than with most people he had encountered that evening. He took a drink of his whisky, allowing it to burn a pleasant path down his throat, and tried to watch Kitty tasting hers without it being obvious what he was doing. All attempt at subtlety was abandoned, however, when she choked slightly upon the first sip and set her glass down quickly, bringing her hand up to her mouth with a slightly startled expression. "Are you all right?" Blake asked, and she nodded quickly.

"Fine," she assured him, seeming slightly breathless. "I didn't expect the aftertaste."

"You get used to it," he promised, and she nodded, taking another sip and grimacing less profoundly this time. "Eventually," he added with a slight smile.

"It's smoother than I thought," she mused, eyeing the drink curiously.

"It's a very good scotch," he replied knowledgeably, and she raised her eyebrows.

"For someone who isn't a heavy drinker, you seem to know your scotch."

"Well if I'm only going to drink on occasion, I may as well know what I'm drinking when I do, don't you agree?" Blake pointed out, and she snorted.

"Nicely argued," she conceded. "I think it's a lot of crap, but nice try anyway."

"Er … thank you?" he tried, unsure how to respond, and she grinned broadly.

"Any time."

"You're really quite a strange woman," he told her with a slight frown.

"You're neither the first person to call me that, nor do I expect you'll be the last, Blake Collins," Kitty responded with an unconcerned shrug. "But you are one of the very few who can say it without my taking offence."

"Well then I'm honoured."

"As you should be."

"Hey, kids, you want some music?" the barman called, gesturing to the jukebox at the end of the bar. Blake glanced across the table at Kitty, who raised her eyebrows in what he perceived to be some kind of a challenge.

"Now this could be fun," she smirked, and he resisted the urge to groan aloud. Already he was able to tell when this woman was going to cause trouble. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm worried," he replied honestly, and she smirked.

"Excellent. Yes, we'd love some music," she told the bartender with a brilliant smile. "Put on something we can dance to." Blake choked slightly on his drink as she shot him a piercing glance. "Let's see if Director Collins can remember how to dance after spending his days shut up in an office."

"Director Collins remembers just fine," Blake retorted instantly, feigning insult.

"Good, then dance with me," Kitty proposed, getting to her feet and holding her hand out towards him, meeting his gaze expectantly.

"This isn't exactly that type of a place, Kitty," he pointed out stiffly. She leaned down, resting her hands on the table to speak quietly into his ear, and he felt her breath warm against his neck.

"Coward," she muttered, a smile in her tone as he bristled. He was on his feet within seconds, tugging her towards him in the middle of the bar and moving in time to the music. She grinned and looped her arms around his neck, her easy smile back in place, and he rolled his eyes in exasperation at how easily she had manipulated him.

"You're awfully pleased with yourself, aren't you?" he asked with a small smile of his own as his arms fell naturally to her hips. She cocked her head to one side as though thinking about it, biting on her lower lip, before allowing her grin to spread and nodding slowly.

"Extremely," she decided a moment later, giggling.

"How did your sister not realise you were going to be trouble at this party?" Blake demanded, half-laughing. He stopped quickly when he felt Kitty tense in his arms, and pulled her fractionally closer, so that she didn't have to look him in the eye. "Sorry," he muttered, feeling foolish, and felt her shake her head against his shoulder.

"No reason to be," she assured him with a slight edge to her tone. "Rosie just …she's always been the perfect one, and I've always been the one everyone saw as nothing but trouble. I'm impressed at how quickly you picked up on it."

"I was making a joke," Blake corrected quietly. "And apparently one in poor taste. I didn't mean it to upset you."

"I know."

"And for what it's worth … I can relate," he added more slowly, unsure how much he wanted her to know but somehow feeling he could open up a little to her. "Being the first born has its disadvantages, as you saw tonight. You must have heard the jokes. 'King Collins.' 'Perfect son.' My parents were so busy priming me to take over their precious school one day that I'm not sure they ever saw beyond that to what I might have wanted for myself."

"You can't tell them?" Kitty asked, glancing up at him in surprise.

"Oh, I could tell them a hundred times and they still wouldn't know," he sighed, unconsciously taking one of her hands in his and shifting them into a more classic dance step. "They can't fathom that I might want something different to what they've always planned for me – something more. To them, becoming Director of MSA is the end of the road: it's where I should rest on my laurels. I should ride in on my white horse and save the school and become its champion. I don't think I've quite met their expectations."

"You've surpassed everyone else's," Kitty pointed out. "All anybody could talk about tonight was how you've turned that place around; how it's going to be the next Julliard. You should be proud of that."

"I am," he assured her. "To a point. It just feels very mechanical, and … this isn't very 'masculine,' but it doesn't feel right somehow. Dance shouldn't be mechanical. It should be what sets you free, not a way to trap you in your past."

"I'm sorry for what I said about dancing not being masculine," she told him, wincing slightly as she recalled her words. "For what it's worth this is very nice. But my experience of ballet is extremely limited. I was the kid who made fun of you in the street for wearing tights."

"I really hated you," Blake mused, cracking a smile as she laughed.

"You were part of a rather large club," she promised. "For the record I'd like to think I know better now. Or at least, that I could be taught better, if I had the right teacher. Know anybody?" His breath caught in his throat as she looked up at him, her gaze intense, and he swallowed nervously.

"I could probably recommend someone," he managed, his throat dry. The song came to an end and she stepped out of his arms with a little noticeable hesitation, clearing her throat.

"I'm just going to …" She trailed off, gesturing towards the ladies' room, and Blake nodded stiffly. She grabbed her purse as she passed their table, and Blake sat back down, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. He couldn't remember the last time he had had such an easy time talking to a woman, or the last time one had seemed … interested, in him, beyond the superficial aspect of wanting to date **the** Blake Collins. He hoped he wasn't reading too much into her actions, although with his track record it was certainly possible, he thought with a sigh.

"Another, son?" the barman asked, coming by and collecting his empty glass. Blake glanced at Kitty's almost full glass and rolled his eyes at her apparent stubbornness.

"A glass of chardonnay, please," he requested instead. The barman nodded with a knowing smile as Blake lifted the second scotch glass and took a sip from it, returning just as Kitty did and placing the wine glass in front of her. She raised her eyebrows and shot Blake a pointed look.

"You're drinking my whisky, Blake Collins," she stated unnecessarily.

"Why so I am, Kitty Patterson," he returned just as dryly.

"May I enquire as to why?"

"Because you don't like it," he answered confidently, and she arched a brow.

"You seem awfully sure of yourself."

"Haven't you heard? We Collins' are an arrogant breed," he quipped, and she fought to keep her smile under control.

"I should be furious," she noted, lifting her wine glass and hesitating as though reluctant to drink it and give in. "I should really walk out of here in protest."

"That doesn't really sound likely," Blake pointed out, and her mouth twitched slightly.

"You don't know me as well as you think you do," she told him firmly, and he shrugged.

"I can order you another scotch if you'd like," he offered, calling her bluff. She remained silent for a moment before letting out an exaggerated sigh and taking a drink of her wine. Blake hid his smile behind the rim of the scotch glass under the pretence of inhaling its aroma, but her knowing glance told him he had been unsuccessful.

"Thank you," she relented with a smile of her own.

"My pleasure."

"Of course with it being your birthday, I really should be buying you a drink," Kitty pointed out suddenly, looking apologetic.

"Oh please," he snorted. "That's hardly necessary." At her questioning look, he elaborated. "I'm not the biggest fan of birthdays," he confessed. "Parties like tonight are just one of the many reasons why. I certainly don't expect favours because it's my birthday, and as a gentleman I'd be quite insulted if you wouldn't allow me to buy you a glass of wine."

"Well when you put it that way, how can a girl refuse?" Kitty joked with a grin, and Blake returned it as best he could. All too easily, was how, he thought grimly. She drew her finger slowly along the rim of her glass, creating an almost melodic sound that Blake felt himself getting lost in. He happened to glance up a few moments later and caught her watching him with a strange expression on her face.

"What is it?" he asked curiously, and she smiled strangely.

"You're very handsome," she announced, and Blake blinked.

"Er …"

"Sorry," Kitty laughed suddenly, shaking her head and grinning. "Rosie told me you were, but she and I normally have completely different taste in men. I was just thinking it's strange that I find you handsome when she does too. Then again I suppose most women agree on you."

"Maybe I ought to confiscate that wine," Blake mused aloud, and Kitty laughed again.

"I'm babbling, aren't I?"

"A little," he admitted with a smile. "And I've never been very good at accepting compliments, whatever my brother tells you, so you'll have to forgive me if I'm not quite sure how to respond."

"Wow. Blake Collins is shy," Kitty deduced with a genuine smile. "Who would have thought?"

"Just about anyone who knows me even a little," Blake assured her. "The people who tell you I'm arrogant and confident and self-righteous … well, perhaps they're right, on some level. But knowing I can dance and having any sort of confidence in myself in other aspects of my life are two very different things."

"That much I do know," she confessed. "It's like in my job. I don't do nearly as much fieldwork as most anthropologists; my specialty is linguistic anthropology and so I can do a lot more on paper; but when I am out in the field, I can make myself seem confident and personable and … knowledgeable. Because in my field, I am. But take me out of my comfort zone and – well, you've seen my impressive foot in mouth skills!"

"I do admit, I've never met anyone quite so capable of botching a first impression," Blake snorted then. "If I had a less developed sense of humour …"

"I'd have gotten bored of you long before now and this would all be irrelevant," Kitty countered with a smirk of her own, and Blake laughed appreciatively. She picked up her wine glass and drained it, just as he finished his – well, her – scotch.

"Would you like another?" he offered, reaching for his wallet, but she shook her head.

"Thank you, but no," she declined politely, and he nodded, hoping his disappointment didn't show on his face. He retrieved a bill from his wallet and sat it on the table to cover the cost of the wine, standing up and holding her coat out for her. He helped her into the sleeves before slipping his own over his shoulders, unsure how to break the suddenly awkward silence that had fallen between them.

"Would you like to go back to the party?" he suggested somewhat lamely, opening the door into the street and holding it so that Kitty could precede him out. She shook her head, shoving her hands deep into her pockets against the cold.

"No offence, Blake Collins, but your party was not my scene," she informed him as though this were new information, a slight smile playing on her lips. He nodded then, glancing up and down the street in search of a cab.

"Well, let me put you in a cab …"

"Oh, for God's sake," she muttered, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Everything all right?" he queried, and she turned on the sidewalk to face him, looking exasperated, if a little amused.

"Just peachy," she agreed easily. "I was just wondering if you planned on kissing me any time soon or if I should just get on with it myself?" Blake could feel his mouth opening and closing like a fish's, but couldn't seem to rein in his surprise. Kitty smiled broadly then, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Well evidently if I leave it to you we'll be here 'til sunrise," she sighed dramatically. Blake had just managed to open his mouth to form a response when he felt her lips on his, warm and soft and gentle. One of his hands moved seemingly of its own accord to cup her cheek, and she whimpered softly into his mouth as he returned her kiss, hesitantly at first and then with more confidence. Slowly; reluctantly; he ended their kiss, looking down at her in surprise. She let out a breathy laugh, meeting his gaze with darkened eyes. "Hmm. Very nice," she murmured, fingering his lapels.

"That was going to be my line," Blake found himself responding, internally deciding he would definitely be blaming the alcohol for that one. Kitty chewed on her lower lip, looking up at him through long eyelashes expectantly.

"So … goodnight, I suppose?" she asked a moment later, looking unsure. Blake couldn't say what came over him, but instead of responding verbally, he lowered his lips onto hers again, kissing her softly but firmly, enjoying the way she looped her arms around his neck and pressed herself closer against him. This time only the need to breathe tore them apart, and he bent his head to hers, resting their foreheads together and smiling into her twinkling eyes.

"Goodnight, I suppose," he echoed a little breathlessly. Kitty took a small step backwards, reaching out and hailing a cab further along the street. It slowed to a stop alongside them, and she hesitated with her hand on the door.

"Look, I don't normally do this …" she began, before stopping again. Encouraged by her attempt, Blake stepped closer to her again, rubbing his thumb along her jaw.

"Would you like to come back to my apartment?" he asked bravely, internally preparing himself for her rejection. Instead she pressed a kiss to his jaw, nodding against his shoulder, and he swore he could feel her smile.

"I'd like that a lot," she mumbled. Blake reached around her and opened the cab door, letting her slide in before him and then following her. He gave his address to the driver, closing the door after him, and shot her a sideways glance. She was smiling at him shyly, her eyes still dark, and he reached over impulsively and took her hand, simply holding it in his own. She brought their entwined hands up to her lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, ducking her head from his gaze. "So you really don't like birthdays?" she asked then, sounding surprised. Blake smirked and gave her hand a squeeze, enjoying the slight shiver that ran through her.

"Jury's still out."


	3. Borrow The Moonlight

**A/N:** And chapter 3! I debated picking up right at the end of the second one, but thought I'd spare you my attempts at writing any sort of heavy romance. Plus it would've been entirely superfluous to the plot. So instead this picks up the morning after the night before, and should be the start of the faster paced story now that Kitty has been introduced and they've had their first … meeting.

Chapter title, _Borrow The Moonlight_, is taken from Stephen Schwartz's _Wicked_, and the song is _As Long As You're Mine_, sung by the characters Elphaba and Fiyero. It's basically about making the most of the one night they have, as tomorrow they're going to have to go back to the real world, and I thought there were some parallels here, although nothing is quite so dramatic in this fic!

* * *

Blake Collins rolled over in his bed with a slight sigh, fighting the urge to fall back asleep. He was sure he had set an alarm that hadn't yet gone off, but even so, he didn't want to sleep through it. He had spent the previous day doing precious little, and so today he had to get really stuck into his paperwork, as much as he dreaded the prospect. He was sure the volume of it hadn't been included in the job description. There was light streaming through the slightly open drapes, and he cracked one eye open and groaned at how bright it was. Maybe he would go back to sleep after all.

"Morning sleepyhead," a voice came from the direction of the doorway, and suddenly Blake was wide awake. How could he have forgotten? He sat up and offered a sleepy smile to Kitty, feeling it widen as he took in her rumpled appearance and the fact that she had dressed herself in his shirt from the night before and little else.

"Good morning," he finally remembered to reply, scrubbing a hand over his face to remove the sleep from his eyes. She giggled slightly, and he quirked an eyebrow at her in question.

"Your hair is out of control, Blake Collins," she informed him with a smirk. He reached a hand up to flatten it nervously, causing her to laugh louder. "Oh, go take a shower," she suggested, jerking her head towards his en suite bathroom. "I've just put on a pot of coffee, and I was thinking of making eggs but I didn't know how you liked them." Blake smiled softly, stretching and shifting towards the edge of the bed, reaching for his robe which was draped over a chair at his side of the bed.

"You don't have to make breakfast," he chastised her lightly, draping the robe around him and standing to tie it at the waist.

"Scrambled it is," Kitty replied in a singsong voice, turning and making for the kitchen. Blake heard her humming as she padded up his hallway in her bare feet. Part of him was tempted to follow her, but he restrained himself, instead grabbing a clean towel from the closet and heading into his bathroom as she had suggested. Ten minutes later he joined her in the kitchen, his hair still damp and dressed in casual jeans and a white shirt, a nice change from the suits he wore day in, day out, to work. Kitty glanced up from the stove and wolf-whistled jokingly, causing him to roll his eyes.

"Very mature," he told her dryly, crossing the kitchen and leaning on the counter beside her with one hand, using the other to pour himself a cup of fresh coffee.

"Sleep well?" she asked, frowning at the eggs as she tried to pry them from the bottom of the pan. Blake nodded with a small smile, inhaling the coffee's sweet aroma and taking a long sip.

"Very well, thank you," he assured her. "You?"

"Like a log," she confirmed, finally giving up on one particularly stubborn patch of eggs and tipping the rest onto two plates. "I didn't know where the salt or pepper was …"

"Sit down," Blake instructed, placing a hand in the small of her back and directing her towards the kitchen table. "Let me."

"Thank you …" She took a seat at the table as requested, crossing her legs and taking a long drink from her own coffee, watching as Blake added salt, black pepper and a little hot sauce to their eggs, before joining her at the table and setting both plates down along with cutlery. "Perfect," she announced with a grin, taking a bite and closing her eyes happily.

"Well thank you for breakfast, Kitty," he acknowledged with a smile.

"You're welcome, Blake Collins." They ate in silence, though not an uncomfortable one, for a few moments, before Blake swallowed the bite he had been chewing and blurted out the question that had been nagging at him since the previous night.

"Why do you do that?" he asked with a slight frown. She widened her eyes in surprise, her mouth full of eggs, and he elaborated swiftly. "Call me by my full name. You seem to enjoy doing it." She chewed slowly before swallowing very deliberately, looking pensive.

"I don't know," she finally shrugged, shooting him a dazzling smile of pure unconcern. "Maybe I just like your name. Why, does it bother you?"

"No," Blake replied, surprised to find it really didn't. "I just assumed there was a reason."

"I very rarely do anything for a reason," Kitty advised him with a small wink. "I find it makes life a lot less interesting."

"Well you are anything but uninteresting," he conceded, enjoying the slight flush that worked its way over her cheeks at his words. "I don't think I've ever had quite such a good time with an anthropologist before."

"Given that you thought we were all old bald men with horrendous glasses, I'm not surprised," she threw back instantly, and he snorted.

"Didn't you meet any of my parents' friends?" he countered. "I've become quite skilled at feigning having a good time with groups of exactly those types of men. I'm sure had you been like that we would still have talked."

"Talked, maybe," Kitty relented. "I doubt I'd still be here this morning, though. Unless there's something you need to tell me?"

"You're hilarious," he retorted with a roll of his eyes as she giggled at his expression.

"I do try."

"Here, allow me," Blake offered, taking her plate and his and rinsing them quickly before stacking them in his dishwasher. He closed the door and refilled both of their coffee mugs, reclaiming his seat at the table and passing hers to her.

"So what does the Director of MSA do for fun?" Kitty asked, her eyes bright with curiosity and caffeine.

"You're looking at it," he informed her with a wry grin, and she raised one eyebrow.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Sometimes I go out for dinner."

"Whoa, slow down, tiger," she deadpanned, holding both of her hands up jokingly. "Don't want to have all the fun there is to be had in one day!"

"I'm not exactly what you'd term a party animal," he shrugged, and she laughed softly.

"I never would have guessed."

"So what do you do for fun?" he retorted with a smile he couldn't quite contain.

"Hmm … well, last night was a good start," she mused, shooting him a cheeky grin. "And while we're on the subject I feel it would be rude of me not to inform you that I did have a lot of fun, last night. More fun than I've had in a long time."

"Likewise," Blake nodded sincerely. It was true – he couldn't remember the last time a woman had intrigued him as much as she did, and for some inexplicable reason she seemed to be as interested in him as he was in her. He had no idea how he had managed it, but he had found a woman who was beautiful, smart, funny and interesting, and had somehow convinced her he could be worth her time. He was already way out of his league, he thought, grimacing into his mug as he took a long drink of coffee.

"Well that's a start," Kitty responded to his previous statement, which he had to take a moment to remember. "I … I don't have a lot of time today," she added with an apologetic smile. "I was supposed to stay with my sister last night and we were going to have a girls' day out. I promised to take her shopping. She's kind of hopeless when it comes to updating her own wardrobe."

"I don't think I've ever met a woman who didn't know how to shop," Blake confessed, blinking in surprise. Kitty laughed then, draining her mug and running a hand through her wayward curls.

"Rosie's one of a kind," she agreed with a fond smile. "But she's my sister."

"I understand," he assured her, and he did. Chase drove him crazy, and Blake was fairly convinced he would never understand his brother, but the fact remained that they **were** brothers, and that superseded everything else. Most of the time, anyway.

"I'd better call her, actually," sighed Kitty, genuine regret flitting across her features. "She was probably worried when I didn't come home."

"You don't live around here?" Blake asked, realising that if she was staying with her sister there was a chance he wouldn't be seeing much more of her at all.

"Oh, I live in Roland Park," she laughed, referring to an upscale community of Baltimore not too far from where Blake and his family both lived, in Cedarcroft. "I have a flatmate who doesn't like to be disturbed late at night, and Rosie has a spare room. We just thought it would be easier."

"Ah," Blake murmured, trying to hide his surprised smile. So she would be around after all.

"Would you …" Kitty sighed and shook her head, taking a breath and offering him an apologetic smile before starting again. "Would you be horribly offended if I didn't tell her I was with you last night?" she asked, chewing on her bottom lip. "It's just that she had her heart set on meeting you, and I don't want to …"

"Of course," he cut her off, nodding understandingly. "It seems unnecessarily harsh to rub it in her face."

"Exactly," Kitty nodded, her curls bouncing. "I mean, if we see one another again – not that I'm implying we will – or that we won't! – but if we – wow, I'm so bad at this," she laughed, burying her head in her hands with a resigned laugh. "I did warn you," she added, peering across at him from between her fingers. "Open foot, insert mouth." Blake merely laughed, reaching over the table and tugging her hands away so that he could see her face.

"I think it's endearing," he told her sincerely, and a shy smile spread over her face.

"You don't think I'm totally lame?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"Anything but," he promised. She leaned over the table and kissed him softly, closing her eyes and brushing her fingers lightly over his cheek. She drew away slowly, a huge smile taking up residence on her face, and returned to her seat.

"You're very charming," she informed him happily. "Very charming indeed."

"Is that a good thing?"

"A very good thing," Kitty clarified with a wink. "I'm a sucker for good looks and charm. Brains and wit just complete the package."

"Well I'll work on those," he offered, and she snorted with delighted laughter.

"How is a man like you still single?" she demanded, shaking her head confusedly. "I'd have thought you'd be beating them off with a stick."

"The only ones I have to beat off with a stick are the ones my mother sends calling," Blake explained with a roll of his eyes. "And usually a stick doesn't do the job. You've been a very refreshing change."

"Maybe I'm secretly one of them," Kitty pointed out with a grin. "Maybe this was all part of my master plan to convince you I'm normal, and then one day you're going to wake up to find me stealing hairs from your brush to take to the cloning lab."

"Now that's a thought that's going to linger," he told her, widening his eyes. She snorted then, shaking her head once more.

"I'd like to think that if I had been planning to seduce you, I would have been a lot smoother about it."

"And yet here you are," Blake pointed out, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. She nodded, watching his movements with apparent fascination.

"It's funny how life takes you down an unexpected path sometimes," she mused quietly. "I mean, I was expecting to get drunk on someone else's bar tab and spend the evening making fun of party guests."

"Accurate so far," he shrugged, and she hit him lightly in the arm.

"I was not drunk," she countered with a warning glare, and he chuckled.

"I know what you meant," he assured her. "I never would have dreamed I would meet someone I could talk to this easily at one of my mother's parties, after all. I wasn't aware she knew anybody this interesting."

"Or socially awkward," Kitty suggested.

"No more so than I am," he returned with a smile.

"So we're as hopeless as each other," she concluded thoughtfully, and he nodded.

"I think that's a fairly accurate summary," he agreed. Kitty returned his nod slowly, turning her hand over in his and interlacing their fingers.

"Well we're a little bit screwed, aren't we?" she murmured, her gaze fixed on their hands.

"I don't think I'd put it quite like that," Blake frowned, and she raised her eyes to meet his, one eyebrow lifted in a question.

"How would you put it?" He pondered for a moment, before taking her chin in his hand and tilting her face upwards, brushing a kiss over her lips and inhaling sharply as she deepened the kiss, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck and holding him close against her. He eventually ended the kiss, pecking her lightly on the nose, and she let out a soft giggle. "I like your words better," she admitted.

"Well I'm happy to repeat them until I've convinced you," he whispered. She smiled sadly then, sitting upright and moving her face away from his.

"It's tempting," she assured him, sounding a little breathless. "But I really ought to call my sister. I don't want her to panic."

"Of course," Blake nodded, masking his disappointment and finishing his coffee. "The phone's in the living room …"

"Oh, I can use my cell," she waved him off, retrieving her purse from where she had hung it over the back of her chair and digging through it. "Got it."

"I'll give you some privacy," he offered, making to leave, and she shrugged.

"I won't be saying anything you can't hear," she assured, dialling a number and holding the cell against her ear. Blake nodded, lifting her mug and heading to the sink with both of theirs to rinse them. "Rosie, hi," Kitty greeted the person on the other end of the phone, and Blake glanced over his shoulder to see her smiling. "About last night, I – sorry? Oh! Um, yeah, that's why I'm calling … Yeah, absolutely. Ok, I'll meet you there. All right, bye." She hung up and let out a surprised laugh, and Blake turned to face her curiously, having stowed both mugs in the dishwasher.

"She had already figured out that you went home with someone?" he guessed, and she shook her head, looking amazed.

"Apparently my dear sister never made it home last night either," she informed him with a shrug. "She thought I was calling to check up on her. I guess this way I don't need to field questions from her."

"That's convenient," Blake noted, blinking. She nodded, looking thoughtful.

"And very out of character," she frowned. "I hope she's all right." She glanced up at him and offered him a rueful smile. "I said I'd meet her at the mall in forty-five minutes. Do you mind if I grab a quick shower?"

"There's a towel in there," he told her, and her face lit up with a surprised smile.

"Thank you," she nodded. She hesitated for a moment as though she wanted to say something else, but instead she just turned and left the kitchen quietly. Blake folded his arms on the counter in front of him, frowning in thought. He wasn't sure where to go from here. He had never been a big ladies' man like Chase, and Kitty wasn't quite like the other women he had dated in his life. She was more relaxed, somehow, and he got the impression she wasn't the type to dive into a relationship, to put labels on something so soon after having started it. The one thing he knew was that he'd like to see her again. He frowned as his phone began ringing shrilly in the other room, and crossed the kitchen quickly, entering the lounge and answering it briskly.

"Hello?"

"Mom's plotting your death," his brother's voice came down the phone, sounding supremely unconcerned. "Something about hired goons."

"Thanks for the heads-up," Blake replied dryly. "Is that the only reason you called?"

"Well I figured you should keep an eye out for cars with tinted windows following you up the street."

"Noted."

"Seriously, what did you do to her, man?" Chase asked, sounding amused. Blake sighed and pinched the skin at the bridge of his nose, dreading his brother's reaction to his news yet knowing there was no way of escaping it – if he told Chase he had left the party early, the younger Collins would put the pieces together with or without Blake's help.

"I may have bailed on Mother's party not so long after you did," he confessed, groaning internally as Chase snickered immaturely down the line.

"Alone?"

"Chase …"

"All right!" he brother crowed, ignoring him. "What's her name? Is she hot?"

"What is wrong with you?" Blake muttered, throwing himself onto the sofa resignedly. "I honestly have difficulty comprehending how we're related at times."

"I know, it does seem unfair," mused Chase. "I got the looks, the talent, the charm …"

"The arrogance?"

"Says King Collins," Chase scoffed, unaffected by his older brother's sarcasm. "So what's she like?"

"None of your business," Blake retorted childishly, thankful that his brother couldn't see him fighting to resist the urge to stick his tongue out.

"That ugly, huh?"

"Chase!" Blake exclaimed in a loud hiss, rolling his eyes.

"I'm just asking!"

"I don't know why I'm giving you ammunition," muttered Blake.

"Because you know if you don't tell me I'll make something up," Chase reminded him.

"She happens to be very beautiful," Blake told him stiffly. "She's intelligent, she's funny, and she's one of the most interesting people I've met in a long time."

"Is she blind?" guessed Chase, his tone serious.

"Oh for the love of God." Chase snorted down the phone, seeming to be far more amused than Blake thought the situation called for.

"All right, I'm sorry," he chortled, not sounding it in the slightest. "So are you going to see her again?"

"I'd imagine so," Blake nodded, thinking to himself that he would probably be seeing her in less than five minutes, when she was done in the shower.

"Nice," acknowledged Chase. "Well when Mom finds out you left for a woman, she won't be happy, but she'll at least have something else to focus on than planning your demise. What colour tux should I get for the wedding? I'm thinking powder blue."

"Stop being asinine," Blake ordered, sighing loudly.

"Asinine?" Chase repeated scornfully. "Geez, B, way to be a snob."

"Don't call me that."

"But I always get a reaction," his brother retorted, and Blake swore he could hear him smirking down the phone.

"Seriously, Chase, don't tell her," Blake beseeched his brother quietly. "You know what she's like. I only met this woman last night, and for all I know this will all turn out to be nothing more than a chance encounter."

"Oh, relax," sighed Chase dramatically. "I'm not gonna tell her. But she's going to want some kind of explanation." Blake caught sight of Kitty re-entering the bedroom, wearing her dress from the night before once more, her hair dripping wet, and grinning at him.

"I'll deal with it later," Blake told his brother distractedly. "Chase, I have to go – I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"Why, what – is she still **there**?" Chase demanded, sounding excited. "Nice work, B!"

"Goodbye," Blake replied firmly, hanging up before Chase could make any more inappropriate comments. He crossed into his bedroom and leaned against the doorframe, watching as Kitty fastened her watch and dragged a comb through her damp curls. She caught sight of him watching her in the mirror, and smiled.

"Nice phone call?" she queried, and he snorted.

"Not the word I would use. Apparently my mother is after my blood."

"I got you in trouble?" Kitty asked, a smile playing on the corners of her lips. Blake laughed then, crossing the room and resting his hands on her hips, placing a hesitant kiss to her neck. She tilted her neck to allow him better access with a soft sigh, and he tightened his grip ever so slightly.

"It was worth it," he murmured.

"Good answer," she nodded, her breath hitching. "I have to go," she sighed a few moments later when he hadn't yet released her.

"Can I take you to dinner this week?" Blake asked, not sure where this confidence was stemming from but knowing he would regret it if he didn't ask. Kitty stiffened almost imperceptibly in his grasp, before turning and fingering his shirt collar, looking up into his eyes with a strange look in her own.

"All right," she agreed quietly.

"Ok," Blake replied slowly. "Is … is everything ok?"

"Yes," she answered with a genuine smile. "I just didn't expect last night to turn out quite the way it has. But in a good way."

"I'm glad," he told her sincerely. She reached up and kissed him softly, before drawing out of his arms and making for the kitchen, where she had left her purse and coat. Blake followed her, watching as she shrugged into her jacket and belted it to hide the fact that she was wearing last night's clothes.

"How's Tuesday?" she asked, surprising him. He nodded mutely, unsure what had been going through her mind a moment previously but glad she seemed interested in seeing him again. "All right, I'll call you tomorrow then," she suggested.

"Sounds perfect," he agreed. She smiled widely, whatever had been troubling her seeming to have passed, and gave him one last, long kiss.

"Good luck with your mother," Kitty told him, smirking, and he rolled his eyes as he saw her to the door.

"Good luck with your sister," he retorted, and she winced.

"Yeah, I might see if I have time to buy something and change before she arrives," she mused with a small chuckle. "I'll speak to you tomorrow, all right?"

"Looking forward to it," Blake assured her. She squeezed his hand gently, offering him a shy yet bright smile as she slipped into the stairwell and disappeared. Blake closed the door after her and leaned against it, letting out a long breath. It had certainly been one of his better birthdays, he mused, allowing a smile to creep over his features. And even though his mother was furious and Chase irritating, he thought he might actually enjoy this week's Sunday dinner. He shook his head in amusement as he headed towards the kitchen to start the dishwasher. Maybe he shouldn't go that far.

* * *

**A/N:** All right, so that's the end of the initial 'meeting' etc. From the next chapter things should pick up a bit in pace and also not be so detail-heavy, fingers crossed! Thanks for reading, and I'd love your thoughts.  
Alison


	4. Let The Dream Descend

**A/N:** Andd chapter 4! I don't think I've ever been on such a roll writing a fic before; it's scaring me a little. The title _Let the Dream Descend_ comes from Andrew Lloyd Webber's song _Point of No Return_, from _The Phantom of the Opera._ It might seem more appropriate for previous chapters, given the context of the song, but I thought this line accurately described what I want this chapter to show. Read it first and see if you agree!

* * *

Blake Collins ducked his head from the eyes he could feel following him down the MSA corridor, and slipped into his office, closing the door behind him after muttering briefly to his secretary that he didn't want to be disturbed. He dumped the files he had been carrying on his desk and threw himself into his chair, remaining still and listening for a few moments to make sure he hadn't been followed. When he was sure he had escaped, he let out a sigh of relief and lifted the pile of sticky notes with his phone messages on them from his desk, setting aside most of them as not urgent. He raised his eyebrows when he reached the second one from the bottom of the pile, reading it three times to be sure he hadn't misunderstood Paula's distinctive script.

_Kitty Patterson, 10:27_, it read. _Call back on cell_, followed by the number he already had for her. He smiled to himself as he lifted his desk phone from its cradle and punched in the number, listening to the phone ring once, twice, three times, before she picked up.

"Hello?" she said into the receiver, sounding slightly breathless, and he grinned.

"Sounds like a bad time," he commented.

"Hey," she greeted him, sounding pleasantly surprised. "Your secretary said you'd be in meetings all morning."

"My last one finished early," he explained. "Did you call for any particular reason, or just to say hello?"

"I wanted to thank you again for dinner," she told him, and he grinned. It was Wednesday now, and last night they had had their dinner together at his place. He had been planning to take her out, but she had called and explained that she'd been buried under old texts in the library all day and didn't have the energy to get all dressed up. So instead Blake had pulled together one of his grandmother's old recipes – 'a good home cooked meal to cure what ailed you' – and they had spent the night on his sofa, drinking wine and talking. He had spoken about what it was like to be on tour, and disillusioned her of the notion that being the lead in a show made him like a movie star. She had tried to explain linguistic anthropology to him, using terms like 'ethnography of speaking' and 'orders of interactionality' that had gone right over his head. Basically it seemed that she studied human uses of language and the influence of them on society, but when he had tried to simplify it as such she had patted him on the hand and told him he got points for trying.

"It was my pleasure," Blake assured her now, thinking of how she had thanked him the previous evening before leaving his apartment at a disappointingly respectable hour.

"I also just wanted to see how your day was going," Kitty admitted, as he heard the background noise on her end die down significantly, and the sound of a door closing.

"It's improving by the minute."

"Your charm will get you far, Director Collins, but it won't get you out of answering my questions," she warned him with a laugh in her tone.

"It's been dull and predictable so far," he shrugged, giving in. "Board meetings, budget meetings, PTA meetings …"

"I thought you said you still teach sometimes?" Kitty questioned.

"Sometimes being the operative word," he reminded her. "I have two classes after lunch today and a tutoring session after school with a particularly problematic student."

"The girl you told me about," she recalled. "Annie?"

"Andie," he corrected distractedly. "And in between times I will be doing all I can to avoid my little brother. Whoever said you outgrow these things has never met Chase."

"You two make quite the pair, don't you?" Kitty teased him, and he glowered before realising she couldn't see him.

"If you knew him you'd understand."

"I'm sure I would."

"I'm beginning to think you called just to mock me," Blake mused suspiciously.

"All right, well, first of all, Einstein, you called me," Kitty pointed out laughingly, "and second of all, you're going to need to deflate that ego if you want to see me again. Are you busy Friday night?" He let out a groan then, sitting back in his chair and rubbing his temples.

"Actually I am," he sighed. "One of my old colleagues from London moved to DC a few weeks ago and is having her housewarming party on Friday. I promised I'd be there."

"And you sound so excited about it," she quipped.

"Oh, it'll be frightfully dull – she's one of the biggest snobs I know, and you've seen who my family associates with. There are going to be dancers, dancers and more dancers, probably very little edible food, and enough shop talk to bore even me to tears," Blake rattled off, flipping through his planner to check the rest of the week's schedule. "How about Saturday night?"

"Friend's birthday dinner," she replied apologetically.

"Fancy a trade?" he offered hopefully, and she snorted down the line.

"Not on your life, Blake Collins."

"It was worth a try."

"So you're committed to this … shindig, then?" Kitty attempted to clarify, sounding a little disappointed. "It's just that I leave on Sunday for a field expedition – a short one, just for a week, but I'd hoped to see you before I left." Blake cursed quietly and glanced down at his planner again.

"How about lunch on Saturday instead?" he proposed.

"I'll be packing – I'm working basically solid this week to get ready for the trip," she sighed. "Unless …" There were a few moments of silence, and so Blake decided a little prodding was in order.

"Sentences tend to provoke a response when they're completed," he advised her.

"Shut up," she retorted easily, although he could tell she was smiling. "I just didn't want to be overly presumptuous, is all." Blake frowned for a moment before realising what she was trying to suggest, and then he relaxed.

"It's really not going to be much fun," he cautioned her. "However, if you don't object to being bored senseless for an evening, I'd be honoured if you'd accompany me on Friday night." She laughed lightly down the phone.

"I doubt I could ever be bored with you, Blake," she told him. "And if I am, well, we've discovered we're quite good at sneaking away from these sorts of events."

"Not that good," he reminded her with a wry chuckle. "My mother is barely speaking to me. For which, come to think of it, I haven't properly thanked you as yet."

"Well you have until Friday to find a way," Kitty challenged him. "What should I wear?"

"It's to be formal," he told her, and she made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snort.

"Of course," she muttered.

"We could go for dinner in DC first," Blake proposed spontaneously. "I've heard wonderful things about _Palena_'s new chef."

"Will we have time before the party?" she asked doubtfully.

"Their dining room opens at five thirty," he spoke, more thinking aloud than expecting a response. "If we make a reservation for six thirty we can be at the party by nine or half past. Is that too early for you?"

"I'll make sure it's not," Kitty promised, sounding pleased. "I've never actually eaten there before, but my sister tells me their oysters are out of this world."

"I'll make a reservation," Blake nodded, glad to have found a suitable arrangement.

"All right, great," she agreed. "How do you plan on getting there?"

"I'll drive," he assured her. "I can pick you up if you give me your address?" She hesitated for a moment and then rattled it off quickly, and he nodded to himself as he jotted it down on a spare piece of paper. "Got it."

"Listen, I should warn you in advance – I don't know if my roommate will be home when you come by, but if she is, just … ignore her, ok?" Kitty asked of him nervously. He chuckled as he folded the paper and slipped it into his briefcase for safekeeping.

"I'm not afraid of your roommate, Kitty."

"Well, I am."

"I promise not to pay any attention to her if she says something I don't like," Blake soothed her, and heard her sigh with relief.

"You're the best," she told him. "I really appreciate it. Now, I'd better get back to work …"

"Go," he instructed with a short laugh. "I have mountains of paperwork awaiting me anyway."

"Well I'd hate to take time away from that. I'll see you Friday."

"Looking forward to it," Blake smiled, before setting the receiver back into its holder.

"'_Looking forward to it_,'" came from the doorway, and Blake jumped slightly, narrowing his eyes in annoyance onto his visitor. "So her name's Kitty, huh?" Chase asked, making himself comfortable in one of the chairs opposite Blake's desk.

"Don't you have class?" Blake questioned, hoping he had succeeded in wiping the silly grin from his face as he pulled one of his student's reports towards him and tried to focus his attention on it, in hopes that Chase would take a hint and leave.

"Study period."

"Funnily enough, you're supposed to use those for studying," Blake told him without looking up, crossing out a line and frowning at it.

"I am," Chase assured him, and Blake glanced up with a withering stare.

"Oh really?"

"I'm studying the mating habits of workaholic robot dancers," Chase elaborated, grinning widely at his own joke. Blake rolled his eyes and lowered them again, but the damage had been done: he had asked the question, and now he was going to pay for it. "Now the question is do they only mate with other robots, or is there a bit of inter-species funny business going on?"

"You're disgusting," Blake muttered, trying and failing to shut out the sound of his brother's voice.

"And you're totally whipped," returned Chase gleefully. "_Palena_ for two isn't going to come cheap, bro."

"How long were you standing there?" Blake demanded, looking up once more in outrage.

"Long enough."

"And here I thought I'd avoided having you follow me in here," sighed Blake, pinching his nose as he felt a headache coming on. "Speaking of which, how did you get past Paula?"

"I used my winning charm?" Chase tried, only for his grin to falter under his brother's glare. "I waited until she went to the bathroom," he relented, and Blake snorted, shaking his head in despair.

"If you're not ready for this fundraiser …" He trailed off with a threatening look, and Chase nodded his head briefly to show the threat was understood.

"Seriously though, bro, I don't think I've ever seen you this gaga over a girl. Woman," Chase corrected himself with a small frown. "What's so special about this one?"

"You wouldn't understand," Blake replied almost without thinking.

"So she **is** special?"

"You are impossible, have I mentioned that lately?"

"Only three or four times since yesterday," shrugged Chase with his trademark carefree grin. "So come on then. Why is she any different to the others? There have been others, right, B?" he asked, feigning sincerity.

"I give up!" Blake groaned, abandoning the marking he was attempting to do and dropping his head onto his desk. The phone rang and rather than waiting for Paula to answer it, he snatched up the receiver himself, desperate for an excuse to get rid of Chase. "Director Collins," he answered it, gesturing for his brother to leave.

"Hey, it's me."

"Oh! Hello," he replied slowly, not wanting to give anything away to his still present brother, but not willing to have Kitty think he didn't like hearing from her either.

"I just remembered, I can't find one of my red earrings," she explained, sounding distracted. "I think I left it at your place last night and I wanted to wear them on Friday. Could you have a look for it and call me if it turns up? If it doesn't I'll need to find something else."

"I'll check tonight," he promised, feeling his cheeks redden under Chase's inquisitive stare.

"You're an angel," Kitty told him. "Right, I'm off again – see you Friday night!"

"I'll see you then," he echoed, hanging up and clearing his throat. "Er, where were we?"

"You were about to tell me why you've fallen head over heels for some chick you met just this weekend, when normally it takes you weeks to get up the nerve to even ask a woman out," Chase related, smirking when Blake let out an exasperated sound.

"Get out of my office and go study," Blake ordered firmly.

"I show an interest in your life and this is the thanks I get?"

"I know exactly how interested you are, and I'm not playing your stupid games."

"Charming," Chase snorted. "Well, it's been fun and all, but I guess I'll let you get back to whatever it is you actually get paid to do around here. Other than criticising me, I mean."

"Oh, they don't pay me nearly enough for that," Blake promised him dryly. Chase rolled his eyes and stood up, making for the door. He was almost through it before he turned back, leaning on the doorframe.

"I nearly forgot – can I borrow one of the school video cameras?" he asked. "Soph and I wanted to record our dance so we can see what moves are working and what ones aren't."

"Tell Ms Oliver you have my permission to take one," Blake nodded, already absorbed in his work once again. "If she's unsure she can come to me and I'll tell her it's ok."

"Appreciate it, bro," Chase nodded, already in the corridor and on his way to bother somebody else, Blake was sure. He ducked his head over the report, internally cursing the bad grammar of his freshmen and making a mental note to cover the arabesque with them in class. Evidently some of them were having trouble.

"Director Collins?" He jerked upright and glanced at the clock in surprise, realising he had been working for over two hours without stopping for so much as a coffee. He offered Paula a wan smile as he shook out his writing hand, regretting having allowed it to cramp up so badly. "Sorry to disturb you," she said quietly, but he waved away her apology.

"I lost track of time, that's all," he assured her. "What can I do for you?"

"You have the junior class this period." Blake sighed and nodded, standing and stretching out fully.

"Do me a favour, Paula?" he asked as he grabbed his gym bag and made for the bathrooms to change. "If you can track down a sandwich or something, leave it on my desk. I'll come back here between classes."

"I'll have the cafeteria staff send something up," she promised. Blake nodded a quick thanks and hurried off, cursing himself for having been so distracted. Although he would claim he had been fully focused on his work, he knew his thoughts had wandered elsewhere: to somewhere far more pleasant, in fact …

* * *

"Wow. You look …"

"Ridiculous?" Kitty offered, adjusting her black floor length gown uncomfortably as she stood before Blake in her doorway two nights later. He laughed, shaking his head, and leaned forward to kiss her softly on the cheek.

"I was going to say breathtaking," he informed her, and her cheeks flushed.

"Thank you," she acknowledged quietly, stepping aside and gesturing for him to enter. He stepped into the apartment, not sure what he had been expecting but somehow surprised by how old-fashioned it was. For a woman as confident and independent as she was, it seemed unnatural that her sofas be floral and her shelves be lined with dark leather books. Actually, he corrected himself, the books made perfect sense. "I won't be long," Kitty promised, her heels clicking on the wooden floor as she crossed to a table with her purse sitting open on it, half the contents spilling around it.

"Take your time," Blake soothed her, smiling as she fiddled with the clasp of her bracelet and muttered a curse. He took a hesitant step closer, and she glanced up, catching his eye with exasperation etched into her features. "May I?" he offered, and she relaxed into a smile, holding her wrist out to him.

"I don't know why I'm nervous," she half-laughed as he fastened it for her, his fingers brushing lightly over her palm. "I mean, it's just a party."

"And we don't have to stay for long," he reminded her. "If it's absolutely awful we'll make our excuses and leave."

"Ok," she agreed, looking relieved. "Oh, do you have my earring?"

"Ah, yes …" He produced it from his pocket and dropped it into her open palm, and she shot him a grateful smile before slipping it into her ear and securing it behind.

"Where was it?" she asked, reaching for a red wrap that hung over the back of one of the overstuffed sofas.

"On the floor by the dresser."

"Explains how I missed it," she sighed, shaking her head. "I swear, I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on."

"I wouldn't necessarily say it's completely screwed on," he muttered, and she laughed indignantly, swatting at him with her purse.

"Not very nice, Director Collins," she chastised him jokingly.

"You know, I really don't think it's fair that you get to use my title against me like that," mused Blake, helping her on with her wrap. "I don't get to mock your profession."

"Oh, this isn't me mocking you," Kitty assured him, raising one eyebrow. "If I wanted to do that I'd call you 'your Majesty,' or 'King Collins.'"

"You'd find yourself without a dinner date," he warned her.

"What about twinkletoes?" she asked thoughtfully, and his eyes widened.

"You wouldn't."

"How much would you like to bet on that?"

"You know what? I'm not as stupid as I look," he told her, shaking his head and taking a step backwards to emphasise his point. "I don't want to start our evening on a sour note."

"On the other hand, maybe I'm just getting it out of the way so we can finish on a high," Kitty countered, stepping closer to him again with mischief gleaming in her eyes. "Which do you think is a better plan?"

"I think just agreeing with you is the only way I'm getting out of this," Blake snorted, and her grin broadened noticeably.

"Hmm, now there's a good lesson to remember in the future," she told him gleefully.

"In the future?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows. She reddened then and turned away from him, slipping her purse over one arm and fishing in it for her keys. Blake smirked, choosing to let her off the hook for now but making a mental note to tease her later. He had been right: she wasn't the kind of woman to label these things; to make commitments too soon. He could definitely have fun with this.

"Are you coming?" she asked, standing by the open door with one hand on her hip and the other clutching her keys. He nodded and passed her, waiting for her to lock the door after them before reaching for her free hand and clasping it firmly in his own. She glanced down sideways at their entwined hands before looking curiously up at him. He merely smiled down at her and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her lips, which turned into a slightly longer than intended embrace fairly quickly.

"Yes," he murmured, tucking that ever pesky curl behind her ear as he raked his eyes appreciatively over her. "Breathtaking." She smiled shyly and tugged him towards the elevator, avoiding his gaze as she tried to control her blush. Blake grinned to himself as they stepped inside and she gave his hand a very slight squeeze.

"If you expect me to dance tonight, think again," she announced, a hint of anxiety creeping through her joking tone. He laughed softly, squeezing her hand back reassuringly.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

**A/N: **This may not be the best of endings, but it seemed to be the best place to cut it off before chapter 5 starts. Apologies if it's slightly abrupt, but the next one will be up soon so hopefully they'll go together all right! And what I said in my earlier author's note is meant to relate to the fact that Blake can't concentrate properly, and to Chase's observation that his brother has fallen hard and fast and seems extremely happy a lot quicker than usual.


	5. How Wonderful A Sound Can Be

**A/N: **Chapter 5! I know the pace hasn't quite picked up the way I said it would but I wanted to get this night in, as it becomes very important later on since I reworked the plot a little. Hopefully it'll pick up soon, but in the meantime I hope you're not bored!  
The chapter title, _How Wonderful A Sound Can Be_, is from _West Side Story_, from the song _Maria_. Originally the line is referring to the name Maria itself, but in the context of this chapter you'll see it refers to something slightly different.

* * *

"These are so good," Kitty moaned, slipping another oyster between her lips and sighing happily. "Seriously, Blake, you have to try these."

"No, thank you," he declined with a small smile, and she pouted.

"Why not?"

"I'm not a big oyster fan," he admitted, and she widened her eyes.

"How is that even possible?" she demanded, looking disgusted. "I remember you inhaling lobster rolls at your party last week, and you cooked me salmon on Tuesday night."

"And neither of those things are oysters," Blake pointed out as though she were dense. She rolled her eyes, waving a hand airily in his general direction.

"You're a freak of nature," she said decisively. "That's it."

"Aren't you charming?" he deadpanned, and she made a face at him, then giggled as someone at the next table shot her a glare.

"I don't think I'm sophisticated enough for this place," she told Blake in a loud whisper.

"What are you talking about? You look stunning," he reminded her. "You outshine every other woman in the room a hundred times over."

"And yet they all think they're better than me," finished Kitty with a knowing smile. "It's ok, Blake. I don't fit in at the expensive restaurants. I don't know anyone in your parents' glittering circle of friends to talk to at the fancy party. I do, however, have killer high heels and expensive-looking jewellery that can help me fake it."

"I wouldn't be here with you if you were someone who fit in with that circle," Blake insisted quietly, taking her hand across the table. "You know that."

"It's nice to be reminded," she smirked, "but yes, I do. Thank you."

"Blake?" a voice came from behind them, and he pulled a face, causing Kitty to giggle as he turned to greet the newcomer.

"Good evening, Janice," he smiled politely, standing and greeting the tall woman with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and shaking hands with the man standing next to her. "How are you, Carl?"

"Oh, very well, thank you," Carl nodded. "We didn't expect to run into you here! I thought you hated DC?"

"I've never said I hated it," Blake corrected coolly. "I prefer a quiet night, is all."

"So he says," Janice joked to Kitty, who smiled slightly awkwardly. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" Kitty blinked and stood, offering her hand hesitantly.

"No, you don't," she admitted. "I'm Kitty Patterson."

"Gosh, that sounded rude," Janice sighed, shaking her hand quickly. "I'm Janice Gorman and this is Carl, my husband. I didn't mean 'do I know you?' in the way it sounded – I thought you looked familiar to me."

"I'm sorry, I really don't think I know you," Kitty frowned, and Janice shrugged.

"You must just have one of those faces."

"Well, I think our table's ready," Carl announced, clearing his throat loudly.

"Yes, we should get back to our meal," Blake nodded with a quick, tight smile. "Have a nice evening, Carl; Janice."

"Blake, will we see you at the Stevens' anniversary next week?" Janice asked, brushing his arm lightly and batting her eyelashes. "Carl refuses to dance with me at any of these events and I missed you at your birthday." Blake coughed slightly and Kitty ducked her head in a vain attempt to hide her blush.

"I'm not sure yet," was all he said stiffly. "If I'm there I'll be sure to say hello."

"Well … goodnight, anyway," Carl offered awkwardly, and he and Blake shook hands quickly. The older man took his wife by the arm and pulled her away, leaning down to mutter something in her ear, and Blake let out a breath and dropped back into his chair, with Kitty following suit, an amused smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

"So you really do have one of these things every week."

"Often more than one," Blake sighed, setting his napkin back on his knee and pushing his food around his plate with his fork. "Whether or not I go to them all is a different matter."

"But you hate them," Kitty pointed out.

"You sound like Janice," he informed her. "I do not hate them; I just find them terribly boring and a waste of time. But it doesn't kill me to keep up appearances, and it's good for the school."

"People care that much what the Director of a performing arts school does with his Friday nights?" Kitty scoffed, before sobering under his hurt look. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded," she apologised, wincing. "It just seems so alien to me that whether or not you show face at the Stevens' anniversary party makes a difference to the running of MSA."

"Not to the running of it – to the funding," he corrected her gently. "MSA can be a better school than it is, but to move into the new facility is going to cost a lot of money, and I'd be an irresponsible Director if I didn't take every opportunity to secure its future." Kitty blinked slightly in surprise as he finished off his meal.

"You're right," she conceded with a small smile. "I apologise, Blake. I suppose I've never thought about the social and … political, aspects of your job. I just imagine you handing out detention slips and correcting people's stances."

"Oh, I do that too," he assured her.

"You really care about MSA, don't you?" she asked softly, and he raised his eyes to meet hers, looking bemused.

"Of course," he nodded, as though it should have been obvious. "I wouldn't have come back to Baltimore if I didn't. Despite what my brother likes to tell people, I did not leave the Royal Ballet because I was burnt out, or because they kicked me out for my drinking problem." Kitty laughed aloud then, and Blake quirked a smile.

"He seriously tells people that?" she snorted.

"Mostly his friends," Blake shrugged. "He would never say it in front of anyone whose opinion of me mattered. Well, at least I don't think he would." He frowned then, as though doubting his convictions, and Kitty popped the last oyster in her mouth, letting out a small hum of contentment.

"Absolutely delicious," she reiterated, and he scowled at her.

"Disgusting," he muttered.

"You're missing out," she sang happily, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with her napkin and taking a sip of her wine. "This wine is delicious," she added with a grin. "Who knew you were a connoisseur?"

"I'm fairly sure we covered that last weekend," he pointed out, raising one eyebrow.

"That was about scotch."

"It was about the fact that on the occasion I do drink, I like to know I'm going to enjoy what I'm drinking," he reminded her with a smirk.

"Wow, it's scary that you remember that," Kitty told him, shaking her head. He merely rolled his eyes at her as their waiter appeared to take their plates away.

"Was everything all right for you, sir?"

"Delicious, thank you," Blake nodded.

"The oysters were incredible," Kitty added, winking at Blake as he pointedly looked in the opposite direction.

"I'm glad you enjoyed them, ma'am," the young man nodded. "Can I get you some desserts, or more drinks?" Kitty caught Blake's eye then, biting her lip, and he smirked knowingly.

"If we could see the dessert menu?" he requested, enjoying the way her face was lit up by her bright smile of surprise.

"Of course, sir," the waiter nodded, stacking their plates on his arm. "I'll be right back."

"Do we have time?" Kitty asked, leaning over the table and turning Blake's wrist upwards so that she could read the time on his watch. "We don't want to be late for the party."

"If it's anything like Victoria's other parties, people will be arriving throughout the night anyway," he assured her gently. "Besides, it's only eight thirty. It'll only take ten minutes to get to her house once we leave here."

"How many people will be there?" she asked curiously, smiling at their waiter as he reappeared with the dessert menu. "Thank you …"

"I'm not sure," Blake told her, busying himself with studying the menu. "Probably a hundred or so?"

"Wait, **what**?" Kitty gaped at him, and he met her eyes, looking surprised by her reaction. "A hundred or so people at a housewarming?" she repeated, shaking her head. "Jesus, who is this woman, Blake?"

"She's a dancer I used to tour with."

"An ex-girlfriend?" she asked lightly, and he smirked.

"Jealous?"

"Should I be?" she returned coyly, and his smirk faltered slightly.

"She's not an ex-girlfriend," he promised, glancing down at the menu once more before nodding and handing it back to the waiter. "I'll have the crème brûlée."

"I'd like the profiteroles, please," Kitty added with a bright smile.

"Very good, ma'am," the waiter nodded, ducking his head and disappearing once more. Kitty glanced back at Blake, taking in his relaxed stance, and offered him a short nod.

"I'm glad." He frowned, looking confused.

"Glad of what?"

"I'm glad she's not an ex-girlfriend," she confessed in a low voice, and his eyes twinkled in amusement.

"You actually were jealous," he concluded smugly.

"In your dreams," she threw back instantly, but with a soft smile. "I just figure there are going to be enough women hanging all over you tonight without one who actually has a reason to think she might have a chance."

"I think I'll be the one having to steal you away from other men," Blake corrected her.

"Unlikely."

"Haven't you seen yourself?" he asked with his eyebrows raised, and her cheeks darkened several shades.

"I can't tell if you keep complimenting me to make me less nervous, or more nervous," she admitted to him with a shy smile, and he grinned widely, showing off his dimples.

"I haven't decided yet."

"You're not the nice guy everybody thinks you are, you know that?" she asked, raising her wine glass to her lips to hide her smirk before taking a drink from it.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that nice guys finish last?" Blake queried, something in his tone suggesting that he wasn't quite kidding. Kitty frowned, setting her drink down and leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms as she regarded him thoughtfully.

"That explains it," she mused, and he frowned.

"Explains what?"

"I was trying to figure you out," she explained slowly. "You're sweet and you're smart and you're kind, and you're funny as hell, but … you hide it."

"I do not," Blake argued, and she snorted in a very unladylike fashion.

"Oh, yes, you do," Kitty promised him with a knowing glance. "I couldn't understand why someone like you wouldn't want the world to see your sensitive side – obviously it's not very masculine, but then I remembered you're a ballerina."

"Nice."

"So then," she continued as though he hadn't spoken, "I thought it was because maybe you'd been bullied at school and it made you lose any confidence you'd had. But then I remembered your parents owned your school: no kid would have dared touch you. And I know you're not short of confidence in other areas of your life. But this is where it all stems from, isn't it? Your parents always taught you that to get ahead in life you have to be ruthless; determined; maybe at the cost of having friends? And it's not in your nature to be mean or cold, but at the same time you felt you had to prove yourself, and so you learned to hide the parts of yourself that make you a better person than them: the parts of yourself they consider weaknesses." Blake blinked at her, his brow furrowed, and she bit her lip.

"I feel like I'm getting a good deal here," he murmured. "Normally an hour of therapy would be several hundred dollars. I'm getting it for the bargain price of dinner and chauffeur services." Kitty sighed, resting her head in her hand with a grimace.

"I've done it again, haven't I?" she asked nervously. "I've opened my big mouth without thinking and I've offended you." Blake responded with a sort of jerky half-shrug, and she groaned. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "You know I do this – I don't mean to! It just suddenly made sense to me why you're such a different person with me than you are with your parents and their friends – or at least, I thought it did. Obviously I was wrong." The waiter appeared just then with their desserts and set them down on the table, making a quick escape from the palpable tension hovering between them. Kitty picked up her fork and took a bite of her dessert, glancing around the restaurant in hopes of finding something inspiring to talk about to take the focus away from her blunder.

"You're not wrong." She glanced up sharply, and found Blake staring at his dessert with a crease in his forehead. "Maybe I do change myself to prove something to them. But you're not right," he added, meeting her gaze then. "At least not entirely."

"What do you -?"

"It's … it's a self-preservation thing," Blake attempted to explain slowly. "It's easier for me to be more detached when I'm playing Director Collins because I need to maintain relationships with these people. Not everybody appreciates my sense of humour the way you do. And as long as I'm a step removed from the equation, the jibes about being burnt out, about not being able to find a wife, about nepotism … they sting a little less."

"Blake …" Kitty breathed, reached over and squeezing his hand hard. "I'm sorry. I really am – I didn't mean to drag up something painful. I was just trying to understand you a little better. I feel like you've got me all figured out; you've got a total handle on whatever's going on with us. I was just … trying to keep up."

"You think I've got some kind of plan here?" Blake asked then, his eyes wide with surprise. "Wow, Kitty, you really don't know me at all," he laughed, holding up a hand to stall her reply. "That's not a criticism. But I … I'm not good at relationships – or whatever this is, I'm not good at that either. I don't think you realise quite how rare it is for me to connect with a woman and actually be able to talk with her. It's all very new to me. To be honest with you, I've been feeling completely out of my depth since we met."

"Are you kidding me? You're Blake Collins!" she exclaimed. "You're famous, for crying out loud. Your family are rich and fabulous and perfect, and you've got your whole life sorted out – everything is on track. God, Blake, you're the most intimidating man I know."

"I see: I'm perfect King Collins, is that it?" he asked, his voice quiet, and she frowned.

"I didn't say that."

"Because if that's what you see when you look at me, Kitty, then you're right: you don't know me," he continued, sounding hurt.

"I don't think you're perfect," she told him quietly. "I know you're not. I know you're easily flustered by women and you've got serious issues with your parents, and I know you'd rather die than admit it, but your brother gets under your skin better than maybe anybody else. But that doesn't change the fact that we're from very different circles, and that does intimidate me, Blake, whether you personally do or not."

"Actually I think you're giving Chase a run for his money," he informed her dryly, venturing a small smile. "And the only woman I'm flustered by is you." Kitty blushed then, as he turned his hand over and squeezed hers tight.

"How is it that you're able to stop me being pissed at you just like that?" she demanded with a small laugh, and he shrugged.

"I didn't know you were uncomfortable with tonight," he said gently, looking regretful. "I mean, I knew you didn't love huge parties, but I thought … I don't know what I thought. I suppose I just expected that like me, you'd rather be elsewhere, but you'd show face anyway and that would be that. If you had told me you were truly nervous, or intimidated, I never would have asked you to come."

"Actually I asked myself," Kitty reminded him, smirking and causing him to chuckle in surprise. "And I knew what tonight would be like. I wanted to come, Blake. I wanted to spend time with you."

"I would have made the time."

"I know, but I figured you could use the company tonight," she added as an afterthought. "Maybe I was wrong. It's not entirely my scene, but I'm hoping I'll be seeing more of you, and if that's true, these events will probably be part of that."

"Ah, so we're back to talking about the future?" Blake challenged her, and she groaned, releasing his hand and sitting back in her chair, snatching her wine glass and taking a long drink from it.

"I knew you weren't going to let that one go," she sighed, and he smirked.

"You said yourself that I'm determined," he reminded her. "So can I safely assume you're not just using me to keep you entertained and are going to get bored of me in a week?"

"I'll be gone for a week – it's hard to get bored of someone without seeing them," Kitty deadpanned, and he raised his eyes heavenward.

"All right, I can take a hint," he conceded. "No commitments." He took a sip from his water, having opted not to drink since he was driving that night, and Kitty watched him as she chewed slowly on a mouthful of decadent profiteroles. She swallowed slowly and cleared her throat, waiting until he caught her eye to respond.

"I'm not very good at this either," she admitted. "It's not even a commitment thing – or at least, not an emotional commitment thing. It's just that with my job, I take spontaneous trips a lot. I get calls from colleagues asking me to pop over to Indonesia for three weeks to help out with their research, or jump on a flight to San Francisco to give a guest lecture. I'm not great at the emotional stuff, but I think I can figure that part out. It's just that I'm not able to commit to physically being here all the time. And I don't want to get into details, but my relationship with my sister has put strain on my romantic relationships in the past. I can't get into it now, and not until I know you better, but Rosie says jump and I ask how high. I'm not …"

"You're not in a place in your life where you can make a relationship a priority," Blake finished for her when she struggled to find the words, and she nodded.

"For what it's worth, I'd like to be able to promise you long-term," she said quietly. "But you don't know me very well yet, and I think once you do you'll see that any kind of a relationship with me involves a lot of patience … and possibly long periods apart."

"Kitty, I haven't asked you to marry me," he pointed out. "I'm not expecting a house in the suburbs with kids and an SUV. I just want to spend some time with you – **get** to know you better. And if that means stepping back and letting you do your job or whatever you need to do then ok. There will be times my job will keep me at the school late and stress me out so much that you just won't want to see me. We'll just play it by ear. For now all I wanted was to know that you were interested in more, even if right now neither of us knows what that may be."

"Wow," Kitty murmured. "You really are nothing like most men, are you?"

"It's the ballerina in me." She laughed aloud in surprise then, her entire face lighting up as he joined in, and she leaned over the table and pecked him on the cheek, grinning broadly.

"I like that you make me laugh, Blake," she informed him, still beaming.

"I like hearing you laugh," he returned with a smile of his own.

"So for now let's go with that," she proposed, looking a lot happier now that they had agreed on where they saw their relationship – or not relationship – going.

"We'll just take it slow," Blake agreed, finishing off his dessert. Kitty cocked her head to one side, feigning thought as she dragged her gaze over him.

"I'm not sure you could call us slow so far," she pointed out, and he coughed slightly.

"You're quite a menace, you know that?"

"It's been said before." Blake nodded to their waiter as he arrived to clear their plates, asking him quietly for the check.

"Well are you ready for this party?" he asked, looking significantly less than excited. Kitty shrugged as he paid the check, standing and bundling herself up in her wrap.

"Like you said, we don't have to stay for long," she reminded him. "We'll go, smile, say hello to Victoria, you can dance with her, and we'll leave again. We'll be back at your place before you know it."

"Does that mean you're staying tonight?" Blake questioned, shrugging into his coat and helping her straighten her wrap from behind. She glanced up at him over her shoulder.

"Do you want me to stay tonight?"

"What kind of an answer is that?" he demanded, laughing exasperatedly as he led her from the restaurant.

"The kind that gets you all hot and bothered, and gives me a good laugh," Kitty fired back, a gleam in her eye. Blake rolled his eyes, opening the car door for her and making sure she was in before closing it and sliding into the driver's side himself.

"I tell you what," he announced, reversing out of his space. "I would like to make a bet with you. I bet you, that you can't stay completely silent for the entire ride to Victoria's."

"Interesting," mused Kitty. "Does breathing count?"

"I might permit that."

"What do I get when I win?"

"_If_ you win," Blake emphasised, "you get one wish."

"I think genies come with three," she pointed out.

"Well I'm not a genie, and I'm offering you one completely free request. You can demand flowers or chocolates or dinner or –"

"Jewellery?"

"If you win, sure," he nodded with a long-suffering sigh.

"And if you win?" Kitty asked, raising her eyebrows. He shrugged.

"I get to dance with you tonight," he proposed. She bit her lip, mulling it over, before nodding slowly.

"All right," she agreed. "Starting when?"

"Starting right now," he informed her with a smirk. She glared at him but sat back in her seat, arms crossed, and stared out of the window. A moment later she inhaled sharply, turning to gape at Blake, whose eyes were still fixed on the road in front of him. She grabbed his wrist and removed his hand from where it had taken up residence on her knee, shifting it away from her and interlacing her fingers with his to stop him trying it again. He managed to free himself, and began tracing small shapes on the inside of her wrist, before pulling her arm towards him and placing a kiss on her pulse point. She bit down on her tongue to stop herself from speaking, but the smirk on his face told her he knew exactly what he was doing. Her restraint lasted the majority of the car ride, but just as they turned down a residential street in Georgetown, his hand ghosted up her arm to tuck her usual errant curl behind her ear, brushing the sensitive spot on her neck, and she groaned aloud.

"I hate you," she muttered angrily, scowling at the smug grin that took up residence on his features. He drew the car to a halt and got out, moving around the vehicle to hold her door for her and pressing a kiss to that same spot near her collarbone.

"Yeah, and now you get to dance with me," he murmured in her ear.

"What is it they say? Date with destiny, dance with death?" she asked, allowing him to steer her up the staircase towards the townhouse.

"So you're getting the best of both worlds," Blake countered.

"A dance with destiny?" she mused, unable to conceal her smile. "I guess I'll reserve judgement until I see how it plays out."

"You're too kind." The door swung open, and a tall woman with dark hair grinned broadly at them, rushing at Blake and engulfing him in an embrace. She drew away and kissed him on both cheeks, before stepping back and looking him up and down.

"You look fantastic, Blake!" she exclaimed in a distinct London accent. "Apparently giving up fame and fortune to teach no-hopers agrees with you."

"And evidently selling out to work for huge conglomerates works for you," he retorted smoothly, returning her grin.

"Well, that and good skincare," she nodded. "Please, come in!" She stepped aside, and Blake took Kitty's hand and pulled her into the hallway with him. The brunette closed the door behind them and turned to Kitty, offering her a dazzling smile and surprising her by kissing her on both cheeks too.

"Er, hello," Kitty managed, taken aback.

"I'm Victoria," the woman explained. "Blake told me he was bringing a guest but he didn't mention you were gorgeous. What on earth are you doing with this dog?"

"She has taste, Vic," Blake informed her tartly, and Victoria raised one eyebrow sceptically.

"Evidently not. But I suppose I can't fault her – if nothing else, the man can dance," she told Kitty with a wise nod.

"I've actually never seen him dance," Kitty confessed.

"Something we were about to remedy," Blake added swiftly. "Vic, we'll finish trading insults later. I promised Kitty a dance, and I think getting her away from you as quickly as possible might be for the best."

"I'm wounded, Blake."

"The truth hurts."

"Go have fun," Victoria instructed, turning to answer another knock at the door. Blake steered Kitty quickly through the house to the garden, where there was a live band and several couples were already dancing under the stars.

"I can't imagine why I thought your friends were intimidating," Kitty commented dryly, and Blake rolled his eyes, tugging her onto the makeshift dance floor.

"One hour," he bargained. "Then we can leave."

"It had better be the best hour of my life, Blake Collins."

"I'll do my best," he smirked, pulling her close to him and beginning to spin her slowly around the patio. She smiled softly, resting her head against his shoulder, and felt him lower his hand to the small of her back. She had just opened her mouth to make a joke about his confidence no longer being an issue, when she felt him lift her right off of the ground and let out a squeal.

"Blake!" she hissed, looking down at him in surprise. He grinned up at her, spinning in a circle with her held tightly in his arms, before lowering her swiftly back to her feet and dipping her low over the ground. She let out a loud giggle, a sound of pure contentment, and Blake's eyes glazed over briefly. He returned her to a standing position, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on her lips, before wrapping her in his arms and holding her close to him once more. He was definitely going to have to make her laugh like that more often, he thought, as she snuggled into his embrace and closed her eyes, trusting him to lead her as they danced in the moonlight.

* * *

**A/N: **Ok WOW the ending was super cheesy, and I apologise for that! I couldn't seem to get the ending right for love nor money, but I wanted to get the party into the same chapter as the dinner rather than dragging it out, so it had to end around here. Apologies for the over fluffiness of it – I'll tone that down in future!


	6. A Very, Very Personal Flair

**A/N:** This chapter starts off as a sort of filler but it does have a purpose, as will become clear once you get a bit further in! The title, _A Very, Very Personal Flair_, is taken appropriately enough from the song _At The Ballet_, from _A Chorus Line_. Oddly enough this chapter is nothing to do with the ballet – the title is meant to refer to Kitty, through Blake's eyes. Although don't be surprised if I used more lines from this song later – it's too fitting not to, really! Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"It was awful!" Kitty whined down the phone. Blake smirked as he crossed his kitchen to the fridge, searching for something cool to drink. "I had to share a buggy with three goats and a farmer of questionable hygiene to get here, only to find out that my colleague is delayed by two days! And she has all the research papers I need. I can ask a few questions, get some background, but after about three hours I'm going to be tapped out."

"It could be worse," Blake pointed out, pouring himself an apple juice.

"Oh really?"

"You could have no cell phone service." Kitty made a small huffing noise down the phone, and Blake heard her conversing quietly in some language he didn't know with someone on her end.

"Sorry to call so soon," she said, speaking once more to him. "I know I only saw you yesterday, but I needed to vent about my journey to someone."

"Well it's nice to know I was your first thought," Blake told her with a smile.

"Oh, no, Rosie didn't pick up," she corrected him smoothly, and he snorted appreciatively.

"Coming in second to your sister sounds like something I may have to get used to."

"Actually you both come in joint second to my job," Kitty mused.

"See? We're already on equal footing – it's a step in the right direction," he pointed out, entering the living room and flipping on the TV, making sure it was muted as he searched for a news program.

"She's starting to suspect I'm hiding something from her," she confessed. "When I spoke to her last night she kept asking where I was on Friday because she kept calling. I'd told her I was going to a housewarming but she seemed very suspicious of the fact that I wasn't home by three am."

"I can't imagine why."

"Your jokes are neither amusing nor appreciated," Kitty retorted flatly, and Blake chuckled, knowing she was teasing him. "Where are you now?"

"In my living room, pretending to do paperwork," he admitted.

"How exactly does one pretend to do paperwork when they're home alone?" she queried.

"I've laid my work out on the coffee table, but I'm sitting talking to you, and the TV is on mute in front of me," he explained, and she hummed softly.

"Sounds like you could use something productive to do," she commented.

"Oh, I have something productive to do."

"Something that you would actually do, not just pretend."

"Interesting notion," Blake relented. "Did you have something particular in mind for me, or am I just supposed to guess?"

"I have a suggestion," she replied coyly.

"Go on."

"Go into your dining room," Kitty instructed him. Blake raised his eyebrows in surprise, but set his glass down on the coffee table and entered the dining room through the adjoining door, glancing around bemusedly. He certainly couldn't think of any 'productive' things he had in here awaiting his attention.

"All right …"

"Are you in the dining room?" she checked.

"Yes," he told her.

"Ok, you know the cabinet where you keep your placemats?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard over what sounded like horses' hooves to Blake. "Open it." Blake crossed the room and opened the cabinet door, frowning in surprise as his eyes landed on a box wrapped in simple grey paper.

"Apparently Santa came early this year," he informed her, lifting the box and closing the cabinet again. Her laugh rang in his ear, and he smiled a little as he returned to the living room and sat back down, laying the box on his knee. "What is it?"

"I'd think the answer to that would be fairly obvious once you'd opened it," Kitty deadpanned. He rolled his eyes and balanced the phone between his ear and his shoulder, deftly peeling back the tape at one end of the wrapping and sliding the box out of its paper. He felt his eyebrows hit his hairline as he discarded the paper, shifting the phone back into his hand.

"'_HMS Victory 1765'_," he read aloud. "An Airfix model?"

"Mmhmm," she replied, sounding distracted. "Sorry, Blake, hang on one second …" He heard the muffled sounds of a conversation in the same unfamiliar language, followed by the loud sound of a door slamming and a few moments of shuffling sounds, and then her voice came back on the line. "Sorry about that," she apologised. "What were you saying?"

"I think you were about to explain the model kit," Blake told her.

"Oh! Yes. Well, there are instructions in the box, but essentially you build it and paint it," she informed him, and he rolled his eyes.

"Not quite what I meant, Kitty."

"I bring them with me sometimes when I travel," she explained. "The kids in some of the more remote villages really love them, and they're good for keeping me occupied too. I thought while I'm away you could work on it. I've got one here too – I thought it could be something we could work on together, but separately." Blake blinked in surprise that she had thought of that.

"You can be very strange," he told her once he found his voice again.

"You'd find me thoroughly boring if I didn't do these weird things."

"I doubt that," he said, shaking his head in amusement as he inspected the box. "This is a good idea, though."

"Does that mean you'll do it?" she asked, sounding hopeful.

"I can't guarantee I'll have finished it by the time you get back," he warned her. "But I'll work on it."

"Oh, it'll be fun!" she assured him, her tone a little breathless. "Seriously, Blake, I really think you'll enjoy it – and I might even call you again before I come back to see how it's shaping up."

"Well if it'll give you a reason to call …" He trailed off, knowing she could probably hear the smile in his voice.

"I should go," Kitty told him, clearing her throat, and Blake could picture her blushing. "But I'll call again in a few days, ok?"

"Remind me when you get back?"

"Next Monday." He nodded to himself, mentally rearranging his school schedule so he could pick her up at the airport.

"All right. Well good luck with work," he offered lamely.

"I don't need luck, I need Kristen," she snorted. "But in the meantime I'll eat a lot of local produce and play a lot of childish games. And probably get quite impressive sunburn."

"Wow, your job does sound awful," Blake responded dryly.

"I'll speak to you soon," she promised.

"All right – take care."

"You too," Kitty murmured. "Bye …"

"Bye," Blake replied, hanging up the phone when he heard the dial tone at the other end. He eyed the box for a few more moments, debating opening it, before glancing at his watch. He let out a sigh and sat the model kit down on the table, turning off the TV and making for his bedroom to change. As sweet and … bizarrely thoughtful, as Kitty's gesture had been, he wasn't going to have time to properly appreciate her kindness right now. Family dinner awaited.

* * *

"What in God's name happened to your _face_?" Blake demanded, inhaling sharply as he stood facing his younger brother across the kitchen. He had let himself into his parents' house only to discover they hadn't yet returned from 'brunch' – also known as a weekly post-church drinking session held at the Taylors' home – and that some time between the end of school on Friday and now, Chase's face had had a disagreement with Newton's first law of motion.

"Nothing," muttered Chase, grimacing. "How was Friday night?"

"Do I look as stupid as you think I am?" asked Blake, in no mood for his brother's games.

"Do you want me to answer that?"

"Chase!"

"It was just some guys," Chase assured him. "I dunno who they were – they got me in the street on my way home last night."

"Where did this happen?" questioned Blake angrily, and Chase shrugged.

"Just, somewhere south of downtown," he replied vaguely.

"How far south?" Blake pushed suspiciously. If he was right, Andie was more than a little involved in whatever had happened to his brother.

"Locust Point," relented Chase with a sigh, and Blake cursed.

"Andie's neighbourhood," he nodded, clenching his jaw. "I knew it."

"She had nothing to do with it!" Chase exclaimed. "She wasn't even there!"

"Were you or were you not on your way home from seeing Andie when it happened?" countered Blake furiously. Chase didn't respond, instead opting to try to escape towards the hallway. Blake grabbed him by the arm to keep him from leaving, but let go almost instantaneously when his brother hissed in pain. "Jesus, Chase, what did they do to you?"

"It's not a big deal," Chase maintained stiffly. "And if you could not mention it to Mom and Dad, that'd be great."

"What – you mean they don't **know**?" Blake asked, widening his eyes. "How the hell did they miss this?"

"I got in late and I was still asleep when they left for church," Chase sighed. "And as far as they're concerned I have a ton of homework and am eating in my room. I just came down here to get something."

"Chase, black eyes don't disappear overnight!" Blake reminded him, his exasperation clear in his tone. "Whatever's wrong with your arm, and by the way you're holding yourself I'd guess your ribs as well, isn't going to cure itself by tomorrow! You might need a doctor, and even if you don't, you live with our parents. Do you really think you can avoid seeing them for the next week, or longer?"

"I've gotten pretty good at it," Chase threw back. "You know what they're like, Blake! As long as I'm doing well at school and my dancing isn't suffering, they couldn't care less what I'm doing! If they don't see me for days all I have to tell them is that I've been at rehearsal 'til late and then too tired to stop and say hi."

"Well that's a mature way of dealing with your problems," Blake retorted sarcastically. "Just avoid them and hope they go away by themselves, is that it?"

"Well why not, Blake? It always worked well for you!"

"I do not avoid my problems!"

"No, sorry, you're right – you just run away from them," scorned Chase bitterly. "To London, in fact! I gotta give you points for that – they couldn't follow you there, at least not for more than a week at a time. Maybe I'll try Australia – you think I'd get any peace if I went to Australia?"

"You are not making this my fault," Blake warned him angrily. "I went to London for my career – I was running towards something I wanted!"

"And away from everything you didn't want to deal with! Away from me!"

"If you really believe that then you're still as mature as you were when I left," snapped Blake. "Only back then I forgave you, because you were still a kid – you were only eight years old, and I understood why it felt like I'd abandoned you. But you're seventeen, Chase: you're not a child any more. Show some maturity – face up to whatever's going on, and accept Mom and Dad's disappointment. Prove that you deserve their respect and maybe they won't treat you with so much disdain!"

"And what do I have to do to get you to respect me?" Chase asked, looking pained. "Go to England; win all the leads; get famous? No, none of that would help, because anything I do, you did it first."

"Contrary to what you apparently believe, I did not live my life up until now planning my every move around making you feel overshadowed," Blake assured him, his voice quivering slightly.

"That's the best part, isn't it?" scoffed Chase. "You're so skilled you can ruin my life without even trying!"

"Oh, stop being so overdramatic!"

"Now who doesn't want to face the truth?"

"Boys!" Rebecca Collins screeched, her voice high-pitched. Blake turned to the side and set his jaw as he took in her disappointed and angry expression, and the slightly glazed look in his father's eyes as he leaned on the kitchen door for support. "What on earth is going on here?" Rebecca demanded shrilly.

"I'm going out," Chase muttered, ducking his head and trying to slink by her.

"You are not!" she snapped. "You will go and change, and you will join us in the dining room for dinner in half an hour."

"But I -!"

"_Go_." Chase shot Blake one last glower for good measure, before slouching by his mother, keeping his face carefully turned so that his black eye remained hidden. Blake let out a breath and leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms and closing his eyes as he tried to figure out where Chase's sudden anger had come from.

"You look tired, son," Charles informed him, slurring slightly. Blake merely nodded – he was tired; far too tired to criticise his father's drinking. As if it usually made a difference.

"Blake, what was all that about?" his mother asked, moving further into the kitchen and turning on the oven, checking on a dish that lay inside it, waiting to be heated.

"Oh, Chase and I were just having a little brotherly chat," Blake told her wryly.

"Don't you mean 'spat'?"

"I know what I said, Mother."

"When he comes back down I'll make him apologise," Rebecca promised, adding a little water to her casserole and popping it back in the oven. Blake raised his eyebrows then, opening his eyes and fixing them upon her.

"How do you know I wasn't the one in the wrong?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, don't be silly, Blake," she sighed dramatically. "Chase is the teenager with the temper, remember? He's the one who can hold a grudge until kingdom come. He's the one spending his time with … hoodlums."

"Hoodlums?" Blake repeated suspiciously.

"Mrs Taylor told me that her daughter Miranda has seen Chase spending an unhealthy amount of time with that girl you told me about," his mother informed him, sniffing distastefully. "The street dancer you let in, for reasons I still can't begin to fathom. Obviously she's had an adverse affect on him."

"Andie may not come from the most savoury neighbourhood, but Chase is a big boy," Blake pointed out, aware of the irony of his defending Andie. "I fully believe that he's capable of choosing his own friends, and of making his own choices."

"No need to get on your high horse, dear," Rebecca told him unconcernedly, busying herself with preparing a salad and therefore ignorant of the way his eyes had narrowed. "All I'm saying is that whatever your little tiff was about wasn't your fault, I'm sure."

"Becca, I'm going to bed," Charles announced from where he had been abandoned in the doorway. "Need to … put my head down, for a few minutes."

"Oh, Blake, help your father upstairs, would you please?" she asked of her son with a grateful smile. Blake snorted – she wasn't even remotely ashamed by her husband's behaviour any more. He took his dad by the arm and turned him towards the staircase.

"Come on then, Dad," he muttered resignedly. "Let's go."

"Love you, Becca!" Charles called over his shoulder, stumbling slightly and leaning on Blake for support.

"Mmhmm, very nice, dear!" she replied in a singsong voice.

"All right, Dad, one step at a time," sighed Blake. This routine was a little too familiar to him, although he supposed it had been a while. By the time he arrived for Sunday dinner his father had usually been home for a few hours and sobered up, but apparently this week's brunch had run longer than usual. When he had been in school, however, this had been a regular occurrence – Blake had found himself putting his parents to bed at least two nights a week, and he supposed he had gotten used to it.

"Your party," Charles slurred, grinning stupidly. "That was a good night, son."

"That was over a week ago, Dad."

"I know that! It was fun though."

"You remember any of it?" Blake queried, surprised. His father furrowed his brow in thought as they reached the bedroom and Blake opened the door, steering him towards the bed. Charles flopped down onto it, not even bothering to remove his jacket or shoes, and frowned at the ceiling.

"Not really," he admitted, before laughing slightly. "Your mother had on this green dress…"

"Her dress was purple," Blake corrected him slightly bitterly.

"Oh … oh, must have been a different night …" Charles murmured, his eyes closing even as he spoke. "Good night, though …"

"Goodnight, Dad." Blake turned to leave and found Chase hovering in the doorway, his eyes fixed upon their father's now snoring figure. He shifted his gaze onto Blake, who gestured that they should move into the hallway. He closed the door softly behind them and let out a sigh, leaning against it. "And to think I was having a good day an hour ago."

"You were?" Chase asked, eyebrows raised. "You never have a good day. You're always finding problems where there are none."

"Well, today was going well," Blake replied tiredly, choosing to ignore the jibe.

"How come?"

"You give a new meaning to bipolarism, Chase," Blake informed his brother, cracking one eye open to glance sideways at him. "What was the display downstairs all about?"

"I was pissed off," the younger Collins shrugged.

"That much, I figured out for myself."

"All right, so maybe you had a point about me avoiding things," Chase conceded with a dramatic sigh. "But look at him, man! As if I needed him to be angry **and** wasted."

"I don't think he would have noticed," confessed Blake. "Mom, on the other hand …"

"Yeah, I'm even less keen for her to find out."

"I don't think you have much choice," Blake replied bluntly. "Dinner's in … twenty minutes, and you know she'll be paying close attention after walking in on your little tantrum."

"Dude, it was not a tantrum," Chase corrected him firmly. "What am I, five?"

"Actually I think we settled on eight."

"Hey, and sarcastic Blake is back!"

"I wasn't aware he had gone anywhere," Blake frowned.

"Sure you did – for a while back there you were seriously annoyed Blake," shrugged Chase. "Now you're back to showing your anger through mockery."

"I'm glad you can find some amusement in my apparent multiple personalities, but let's talk about yours for now," suggested Blake. "What you said downstairs …"

"I was just taking it out on you," Chase interrupted. "I'm mad that those guys beat me up, I'm mad that Dad's always drunk, I'm mad that Mom doesn't seem to care, I'm mad that neither of them gives a damn about me …"

"That's a lot of anger for someone your age, Chase," Blake pointed out gently.

"I'm sorry, would you like to be the pot, or the kettle?" scoffed his brother. "You were the king of teenage angst, in case you've forgotten."

"I was frustrated, not bitter," Blake corrected him. "It's a very different situation."

"Yeah it is," Chase agreed. "You got to leave."

"You will too."

"When?" scowled Chase. "We both know I'm never going to go join the Royal Ballet. They'd never want me, and even if they did I'd hate it there. I'd just be Blake Collins' brother all over again. I don't want that."

"Then find your own way," Blake pushed him. "Go where you want to go and do what you want to do, and don't let Mom and Dad talk you out of that."

"I'm gonna spend the rest of my life being compared to you, B," Chase sighed.

"Don't call me that," muttered Blake distractedly.

"Whatever. My point is, it doesn't matter how far away from here I get: I'm always going to be the son of two legends and the brother of a third."

"I had our parents' reputations to live up to as well, you know," Blake reminded him. "It wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs for me either. And you're going to have a much easier time making friends on your own merit and showing your independence than I did. What you do is very different to anything any of us ever did."

"I guess."

"Look, I can't change the way things are," Blake sighed. "But I can be here to discuss your options with you; to help you find the path that's right for you. You know, if you'd like."

"Why wouldn't I?" Chase frowned.

"Well, sometimes I get the impression your life would be a lot easier without me in it."

"Seriously?" Chase asked. Blake nodded, and his brother shook his head despairingly, shoving him lightly in the shoulder. "You're an idiot," he said firmly. "You drive me nuts, man, but you always did. You're _Blake_; that's what you do. It'd be weird if you didn't."

"I will never understand anyone in this family," Blake proclaimed with a frustrated groan.

"It's part of our charm," Chase mused, before shooting his brother a sideways grin. "So, your good day. It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the infamous Kitty, would it?" Blake rolled his eyes, and Chase smirked even more broadly. "I'll take that as a yes."

"I think that was more of a 'none of your business' eye roll," Blake defended himself.

"Maybe, but I'm taking it to mean yes anyway," retorted Chase smugly. "Did, uh, you two have a nice morning?"

"Actually we did," Blake informed him. "I slept in, I got some work done, I made some phone calls … Kitty's flight landed on time, which was good …"

"Wait, flight?" Chase interrupted, the smirk wiped from his face. "Where was she?"

"She **was** here."

"Well then where did she go?" pressed Chase insistently.

"Kyrgyzstan," Blake shrugged nonchalantly, enjoying the bewildered and shocked look that crossed his brother's face.

"A little more information would be nice," prodded the younger Collins.

"She's travelling for work," relented Blake with a small laugh. "She left early this morning."

"To … Kyrgyzstan? What exactly is her job?"

"She's a linguistic anthropologist."

"Ok, tell me more," Chase prompted. Blake raised his eyebrows.

"How long before Mom calls us for dinner?"

"About … ten minutes?"

"All right, well, pay very close attention then. I might just about have time to teach you how to spell it." Chase shoved him again, harder this time, and Blake chuckled as his brother pulled a face.

"So you're dating a linguistic anthropologist," Chase mused thoughtfully. "Huh. It doesn't really sound like she's your type. Unless she's super hot as well."

"As a matter of fact, she is, but that's entirely beside the point," Blake smirked. "And I don't know that I'd say we were dating, as such."

"Hasn't she spent the night at your place like … three times in a week?"

"I don't think that's any of your concern!" scoffed Blake.

"Another thing that's beside the point," Chase shrugged. "So if you're not calling it dating, what are you calling it? Is it like a friends with benefits arrangement?"

"Where do you pick up these ideas?" Blake demanded, shaking his head.

"In **your** school, bro," retorted Chase instantly.

"I'll definitely have to see what can be done about that."

"And I wish you luck," his brother concurred. "But in the meantime … is she just using you for, you know? The _physical_ side of things?"

"This conversation is not happening," Blake muttered, closing his eyes and banging his head against the wall behind him three times. "There is no way my little brother just asked me that question."

"Oh come on! It's not like I'm a kid, man."

"You're still my kid brother, however."

"It could be worse," Chase shrugged unconcernedly. "Remember that time when I was twelve and we came to visit you in London, and I asked you how long I should wait before having sex with my girlfriend?"

"In front of **my** girlfriend," Blake reminded him with a scowl. "One of your more impressive instances of making my life difficult."

"It was excellent," Chase agreed with a wistful grin.

"You're deranged."

"So you really like her, huh?" Chase asked, changing subjects so fast it took Blake a moment to catch up.

"I really don't know what you expect me to say after only a week," he hedged.

"Well you didn't even see her today, and you were in a good mood, so I'm guessing you do like her a lot," continued Chase, talking over Blake's lame protests.

"Do you actually need me for this conversation?" Blake questioned, and Chase laughed.

"Sorry. So what happened today?" Blake hesitated, but then gave in, as he had known he would, and filled his brother in on the events of Friday night, Kitty's phone call that morning, and her little surprise gift. Chase frowned as he tried to explain the thought behind the model, and shook his head when Blake insisted it had been sweet.

"It shows she was thinking of me," Blake attempted to convince him.

"It shows she's got a screw loose," Chase said decisively. "You're dating a lunatic, bro."

"She is not a lunatic!"

"She's got a job that means she has to travel to Kyrgyzstan, she gives you weird ship-building gifts, and most damning of all, she's dating **you**," Chase summarised. "You're right, she's not a lunatic – she's an escaped mental patient."

"I give up," muttered Blake.

"I bet Kitty's not even her real name."

"Would you shut up?"

"That's no fun."

"Chase! Blake! Dinner's ready!" Rebecca's voice floated up to them from the foot of the stairs. "And you had both better be on your best behaviour, or else!" The brothers exchanged glances before making their way slowly to the staircase.

"Seriously, though, you're into her? In spite of the weird behaviour?" Chase asked curiously as they made their way towards the kitchen. Blake allowed a small smile to flit across his features.

"I am," was all he said. Chase jerked a nod of acknowledgement and meandered into the dining room, from where their mother's shriek could be heard when she caught sight of her youngest son's face. Blake remained in the hallway for a few moments, deciding to let her run out of steam before joining the party, and thought about what Chase had asked him. _In spite of the weird behaviour_. He wasn't sure he could explain or justify it, not even to himself, but he was beginning to think it was because Kitty was so quirky that he liked her as much as he did. Not that he would admit to how much that was. Chase would never let him live it down – and even if he did, Blake dreaded Kitty's mockery even more. He smiled wryly to himself. If he considered her to be as irritating as Chase and yet still wanted her in his life, he really must have it bad. But then, he mused, watching as Chase darted from the dining room into the kitchen, away from their mother, who was following him and waving a serving spoon, there were worse things in life.

* * *

**A/N:** Ok, I know there wasn't a whole lot of Blake/Kitty interaction here, but this fic is also designed to fit in with the film, and I needed to show how tense Chase and Blake's relationship is at this stage. I know I then made it fluffy again, but the idea was to show that it can blow up at any moment; that it's a very fragile respect they share. And also that Blake finds Kitty utterly charming, if a little kooky! Hope you enjoyed it anyway, and I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	7. Sit Down, You're Rockin' The Boat

**A/N:** This chapter is a little more angsty but should start to show the less … superficial, I guess, aspects of Blake and Kitty's relationship. You'll recognise one or two lines of dialogue from the movie, in keeping with canon, although I decided not to recreate all of the scenes referenced in this chapter in full. I thought that would be a tad too far! The title is from the song of the same name, _Sit Down, You're Rockin' The Boat_, from the musical _Guys and Dolls_. Hope you like the update!

* * *

"Good morning, Paula," Blake greeted his secretary with a cheery smile, lifting the pile of phone messages stacked on the corner of her desk. "How was your weekend?"

"It was ok," she replied slowly, eyeing him suspiciously. "I'm guessing you won the lottery?" Blake snorted and shook his head, gesturing for her to follow him through to his office. He set down his briefcase and gym bag, hanging his coat on the stand behind the door and taking his seat behind his desk, reading the top message as he did so.

"All right, if Robert Thomas calls again, put him straight through," he began, nodding slowly as he discarded the message. "You can call these … three, back, and tell them I won't be attending any of these events," – here he handed the messages in question back to a bemused Paula – "and I'll deal with the last two myself. Have there been any more RSVPs for the fundraiser?"

"I emailed you the updated list," she confirmed, and he smiled again.

"Thank you very much." She nodded, making for his office door, but hesitated once there and turned back to face him.

"Director Collins?" she began unsurely, but Blake held up a hand.

"Paula, you've worked for me for a while now. Don't you think it's time you called me Blake?"

"I really hadn't thought about it … Blake," she frowned. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Of course," he replied, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, no reason," Paula answered with the air of somebody choosing their words carefully. "It's just that Monday morning is usually your least favourite time of the week, and you normally need at least two cups of coffee and a successful meeting to make you smile like this before ten am."

"I just had a good weekend," Blake assured her with a crooked smile.

"Did you do anything nice?"

"Actually, not for most of it," he mused, chuckling as he realised that fact. She raised her eyebrows, looking suspicious, and he cleared his throat. "Paula, I really am fine."

"All right," she agreed, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. "I'll just go return these calls, then … Can I get you a coffee?"

"You know what? I'll wait a while," he declined, and her jaw dropped. "Too much caffeine is bad for you, and since I'm feeling good, I shouldn't pump my body full of it unnecessarily. Don't you agree?"

"Sure …" She backed out of the room, still frowning, and he rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine!" he called out to her once more, shaking his head with a short laugh. Dinner with his mother had been slightly painful, but perhaps less so than usual, he mused, considering he and Chase had been having a rare moment of brotherly understanding. He had received an email from Kitty before work that morning, detailing how the children in the village were all fascinated by her hair and how she had been handing out nail polishes to the teenagers. It seemed that she had already integrated herself into their lifestyle, or, as she put it, she was 'slowly but surely transforming into a nomad.' But he wasn't to worry – apparently her love of three inch heels would draw her home eventually. He shouldn't have been so pleased to hear from her, he thought with a slight frown, considering they had only spoken yesterday and he had only known her for a week, but it felt like it had been a lot longer. She seemed to have wormed her way into his life, and now he had difficulty imagining what it had felt like to answer the phone and not hope her voice would be the one on the other end.

"Director Collins!" He jerked upright, startled out of his musings by Sophie Ventura appearing in his doorway, her face distraught. He frowned and got to his feet, coming around the desk and stopping in front of her.

"Sophie, what's the matter?" he asked concernedly.

"I think you have to come see for yourself," she told him, her eyes wide with panic. He raised one eyebrow sceptically.

"Sophie, I think you ought to take a breath and –"

"There's been a break-in," she cut him off, and he felt his insides freeze. He nodded sharply, gesturing for her to lead the way, and followed her at a brisk pace. Paula got to her feet as they passed, looking startled.

"Director Collins, what -?"

"Call the police," he told her grimly. "Tell them we've had a break-in." Her eyes widened and she nodded, grabbing the phone and dialling quickly. "Where's the damage?" he asked of Sophie as she led him down the corridor.

"Studio one," she told him, sounding a little breathless. "I was on my way to class and I noticed the barre had been toppled, so I went in to right it, and …"

"All right, get to class," he instructed her calmly. "I'll assess the damage. Thank you for coming to get me so promptly, Sophie," he added as an afterthought, and she nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly.

"Thank you, Director Collins." She disappeared up a staircase, and Blake kept to his course, not stopping even when he heard hurried footsteps behind him. Paula caught up with him just before he reached the studio, and fell into step behind him, not speaking, which led him to believe she had gotten through to the police. There were students crowded both in and outside the studio, but they parted in the face of his anger, allowing him to pass through the doorway into the centre of the room.

"Oh, my …" Paula breathed, and Blake supposed that about summed it up. The walls were completely coated in graffiti; the mirrors too; many of them were smashed; the barres were toppled, as Sophie had said, and all around the room lay ruined props and costumes. He took in a long breath, keeping his temper in check enough to prevent him from shouting, but no more.

"Does anybody know who is responsible for this?" he demanded, just about keeping his tone even. Nobody answered, and he cast his gaze around the room again, feeling rage boil inside him as it landed on one particular piece of graffiti. _Stay out of the Streets_. He set his jaw and turned back to his students, making sure to make eye contact with as many of them as possible. "This school will not be associated with these competitions," he informed them, his words dripping with cold fury. "Any future involvement by our students in the Streets will lead to expulsion, and anyone with **any** information is expected to come forward." He caught Chase ducking his head, and suddenly he had a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Get this place cleaned up," he ordered the students, turning on his heel and shoving his way back out quickly, before he lost his control. Paula met him in the corridor, having hung back when he entered, and quickly fell back into step behind him.

"The police might want to dust for prints," she told him quietly.

"There's no point – that room gets used by hundreds of students every day," he pointed out with a shake of his head. "They won't find any evidence of use beyond what's written on the walls, and that will still be there when they arrive."

"Should I call the staff to a meeting?" she asked, sounding uncertain of what her role should be. He pondered for a moment before nodding.

"Yes, but give me twenty minutes first," he instructed. "I'll have to call the Governors personally. And no doubt my parents," he added in a bitter undertone.

"I'll have everyone gather in the staff room in half an hour," Paula promised as they reached the outer office. She slid into her chair and began drafting an email, and Blake closed his office door behind him, flopping into his chair and leaning back with his eyes closed. He simply sat there for a few moments, allowing the anger to wash over him as he thought about the cost of repairs, the fact that he would probably have to expel one or more students, and the phone calls he would now have to make. He groaned aloud and snatched up the receiver, hesitating only a moment before punching in the number he had no desire to dial.

"Collins residence," his mother's voice floated down the line, and he winced.

"Mom, it's me. Blake," he added as an afterthought, not entirely sure she would be able to tell which son it was just by the first sentence.

"Blake, darling, what a surprise!" Rebecca exclaimed. "Is everything all right?"

"Honestly? No," he sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Well what's the matter? Whatever it is, I'm sure you can fix it."

"Mom, I'm not calling for a pep talk, as uplifting as yours always are," he informed her, deadpan, knowing she hated his sarcasm. "I'm calling because I don't want you hearing this from someone else, which you almost certainly would if I didn't call you first."

"Hearing what, Blake?" she asked, her tone a little sharper now.

"Somebody broke into the school," he told her wearily, ignoring her shocked gasp and talking over it. "They didn't steal anything, but they vandalised the main studio. There's a lot of graffiti and other damage, and it's going to be expensive."

"Who would do something like that?" she demanded, her voice shaking with outrage.

"I'm confident it was none of my students," was all he said in response, and she let out a choked sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"It's just unthinkable!"

"Anyway, there's nothing for it but to pay the expenses and hope the ones responsible can be caught," Blake sighed heavily. "I'll let you know if there are any developments. Right now I have to inform the Governors and the staff."

"Can I do anything?" his mother asked, her tone anxious. "Do you need me to come down there to help?"

"No!" he responded sharply, perhaps a little too much so. The last thing he needed right now was his parents breathing down his neck, not to mention how it would look if, at the first sign of trouble, the Director had to call Mom and Dad to come and hold his hand. No, Blake thought with a shudder, he wouldn't stand for that. "No, Mom, there's really nothing you can do. Classes will go on today as normal, and I don't want them disrupted by a host of people parading into the building, however good their intentions."

"Oh, but maybe I could help, darling …"

"Mother, please," he cut her off, "trust me. I'm doing everything that needs to be done already. You'd be in the way," he added, knowing the words might sting a little, but deciding that given the alternative, they were necessary. There was a moment of silence.

"Very well then," Rebecca answered in clipped syllables. "I'm sure you have it under control. Keep me updated, won't you?"

"I said I would."

"You should get back to work," was all his mother said before the line went dead. Blake rolled his eyes and replaced the receiver, knowing he was going to pay for hurting her feelings later. He flipped through his Rolodex for Robert Thomas' number. As head of the Board of Governors, Robert needed to be informed first. When he picked up the phone, however, Blake found himself dialling a different number.

"_Hi, you've reached Kitty – I either can't come to the phone or I'm in some remote location where I have no service,_" her voice chirped down the line, and Blake fought a smile. "_Leave me a message if you like, and leave your number, and I'll call you back. Unless I get eaten by a wildebeest, in which case it was probably nice knowing you!_" This was followed by a sharp beep, and Blake couldn't contain his quiet snort of amusement.

"Even your voicemail is ridiculous," he spoke into the handset, hesitating before continuing. What was he meant to say now? He couldn't very well tell her he had just wanted to hear her voice. "I know we just spoke yesterday, but this is just a quick call to … to check in," he finished lamely. "I haven't gotten around to answering your email but I'll do so as soon as I can. Things are … a little hectic, this morning." Possibly the understatement of the year, he thought dryly, but she needn't know that. "Anyway, I hope your colleague arrives this afternoon as planned, and I'll speak to you soon. Bye." He hung up, cursing himself under his breath. Could he have sounded more idiotic?

"Blake?" Paula called softly through the door, knocking on it quietly, and silently he thanked God he had already finished leaving his embarrassingly pathetic message.

"Yes," he replied, raising his voice just enough for her to hear. She slipped into the room quietly, glancing disapprovingly up at the light, which he hadn't bothered to turn on. The skies outside were grey and overcast, and so there was a distinct lack of natural lack. Paula was always reminding him not to read in dim light. However, she merely flipped the switch without comment this time, and Blake blinked slightly against the sudden brightness.

"I just wondered if you needed me to place any calls?" she asked hesitantly.

"Get me Robert Thomas," he nodded with a sigh. "Is the staff meeting set up?"

"I've emailed the entire faculty," she shrugged. "Hopefully most of them will get it in time, and I'll do an announcement over the PA in a few minutes just in case."

"Thank you, Paula," he murmured as she left the office once more. A moment later the red light next to line one on the phone lit up, and he bit back a groan as he lifted the receiver. "Robert? Blake Collins here …"

* * *

Blake jerked awake that evening to the sound of a phone ringing shrilly. He groaned as he sat upright, rubbing his neck tiredly. He must have fallen asleep on his sofa, he thought dimly, although he was sure he had planned to go to bed … He reached over the arm of the sofa and retrieved the phone, answering it without bothering to check the caller ID.

"Blake Collins," he muttered into the handset, lifting his watch from where he had apparently left it on the coffee table and frowning at it. He had dozed off for a full two hours, evidently.

"Hey handsome," Kitty's voice replied, sounding amused, and he felt himself relax.

"Hi …" he greeted her, smiling wanly as he sat back against the sofa cushions. All day he had hoped she would return his call, growing increasingly frustrated as the afternoon had brought more problems and he hadn't been able to talk to her. "How are you?"

"Filthy," was the response he got, and she giggled slightly at his silence. "I've just been helping out on one of the farms," she elaborated. "I have pains in parts of my body I didn't know existed."

"Sounds like an eventful day," he commented, raising his eyebrows.

"It's been educational in some ways," she agreed. "None that are remotely useful to the paper we're trying to write, unfortunately. On the bright side, Kristen finally arrived, so we can really get stuck into it later today, hopefully."

"I'm glad she made it safely," Blake nodded. There was a pause, and then Kitty spoke again, sounding hesitant.

"Are you ok?" she asked gently.

"I'm fine," he promised, suddenly feeling ridiculous for having called her earlier. There was nothing she could actually do to help, after all, and his problems would doubtless seem completely trivial to her.

"Are you sure?" Kitty pressed him, oblivious to his internal embarrassment. "Only your message seemed a bit … I don't really know how to explain it; I just got the feeling that something was bothering you when you called."

"Something was," he admitted, "but it's over and done with now."

"What was it?" she asked curiously, and he heard shuffling on her end of the phone.

"What's that noise?" he questioned.

"Oh, I'm just trying to get comfortable," she told him. "I'm currently sitting on some of the scratchiest grass I've ever come across. There are upsides, though."

"Really, like what?"

"Like … I'm looking up at the clearest, most beautiful sky I've seen in a long time and imagining you're here dancing with me," Kitty ventured, and Blake smiled, his first real smile all day.

"Now that would have made my day better," he commented.

"Come on, spill," she ordered, and he rolled his eyes although she couldn't see him.

"Our studio was broken into over the weekend," he explained with a sigh. "They left graffiti all over the walls and mirrors, broke our equipment …"

"That's so awful!" she sighed, sounding genuinely sorry. "Do you know who did it?"

"Not specifically," he shrugged. "I know it was because some of my students involved themselves in something called the Streets – it's an underground dance contest, and extremely illegal. Apparently some of the other kids involved didn't take too kindly to their attempts to join in."

"Clearly not," Kitty replied, sounding amazed. "That's intense. So did you find out which students were in on it?"

"Well I had to expel Andie West, for starters."

"No surprises there," she murmured. "I'm guessing she's the reason MSA kids got involved in the first place?"

"So it would seem," Blake confirmed.

"Were there a lot of them?"

"It's hard to say," he frowned. "One thing I will give her is that she's very loyal. She refused to give me any names. Had she done so, I might not have had to expel her, but as it is …" He trailed off, debating whether to admit to the other event that had really bothered him today. "Chase was involved," he finally added.

"Your brother Chase?" she questioned, and he nodded for no particular reason.

"One and the same."

"You're sure about that?"

"He came and told me himself," Blake affirmed, grimacing as he remembered the cold way in which he had spoken to his brother, and some of the particularly elitist comments he had made about Andie. "He wanted to take the fall for Andie."

"Wow," Kitty mused. "He must like her a lot." Blake half-smiled, thinking how her words echoed Chase's to him about her the previous night.

"I think that's part of it," he agreed, "but I don't doubt that he was involved. If Andie was the reason, it doesn't discount the possibility that Chase was still the ringleader of the entire thing. And it would certainly explain the black eye he's been sporting since Saturday night."

"Hmm, yeah, that doesn't sound at all suspicious," Kitty deadpanned, and Blake snorted.

"He claims the people who beat him up were strangers, but it's all a little too coincidental for my liking," he admitted.

"No, I'm with you," she agreed. "Whatever the Streets entails, there are some very pissed off kids out there, and Chase and Andie seem to be the reason why. He wouldn't give you any more information?"

"No, although to be fair I didn't give him much of a chance to," confessed Blake.

"You took your frustrations out on him." It wasn't really a question, he mused, but it seemed to require an answer nonetheless.

"Slightly."

"Which means yes, very much so, in normal English," she concluded with a sigh. "Blake, I get why you were mad at him for being involved, but you can't blame him entirely. Whatever he did, it doesn't excuse those other kids breaking into your school or beating him up. Both of those things are illegal."

"It wasn't just that," Blake attempted to explain. "He wanted me to throw him out instead of Andie."

"Your own brother? As if you'd do that!"

"Exactly," he muttered, feeling somehow vindicated. "But Chase didn't like my attitude towards it very much. He thinks I was too hard on her and I should go back on my decision to expel her."

"Do you think you were too hard on her?" Kitty asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"I think … Knowing that other students, Chase included, were also involved makes me feel that she bore more than just her own share of the punishment," conceded Blake. "That being said, she had the opportunity to share names and therefore share the consequences and she opted not to. And I don't think there's any point in pretending that any of this would have happened had she never joined MSA in the first place."

"Well you can hardly punish the girl for that, considering you're the one who let her in," Kitty reminded him gently. He sighed deeply, hating the fact that she was making the same point that he had been struggling with all afternoon.

"Believe me, I'm well aware," was all he said. There were a few moments of silence before Kitty spoke again, and her words were spoken kindly.

"Being Director means you have to make the tough choices sometimes, Blake. It may not be much fun but somebody has to do it. And I know if I had a kid at MSA, I'd rather it be someone like you, who'll do what's right and as close to fair as can be, than someone who'll only do what's right for **them**. You put the welfare of your school, and your other students, first, and I don't think anyone can ask more of you than that." Blake let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. On some level, he had needed somebody to reassure him that he hadn't completely overreacted or handled the situation terribly.

"It's great to hear from you," he told Kitty with a small smile.

"I was glad to get your message," she returned. "Even if I didn't appreciate being called ridiculous less than three seconds into it."

"Eaten by a wildebeest?" he reminded her. There was a pause, and then she let out an exaggerated sigh.

"All right, you may have had a point." Blake laughed then, and a moment later she joined in, giggling merrily at her own sarcasm. "Seriously, though, I'm glad you called me when you were feeling crap," she said softly. "It was nice to know you wanted to speak to me when things weren't going well."

"I'm impressed you picked up on it so easily," he confided.

"Blake, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you are not nearly as hard to figure out as you'd like to think," she informed him with a short laugh. "When you hesitated at least once in the middle of every sentence it made it fairly easy to tell you had something on your mind. I'm just sorry I couldn't call back sooner, but I was asleep." Blake frowned then, glancing at his watch once more.

"That's a fair point – what is the time difference?" he asked, realising he had no idea.

"We're eleven hours ahead," she told him. "It's already tomorrow here."

"Well that's destined to confuse me," Blake chuckled.

"Along with many, many other things, I'm sure."

"Remind me why I wanted to talk to you?"

"Damned if I know," Kitty snorted. "But I actually should go," she added regretfully. "I need to wash up before breakfast, and then Kristen and I need to do some actual work, since we've already lost over 24 hours."

"Go," he instructed firmly. "Thank you for calling me back."

"Of course," she replied. "I'll call you tomorrow night … your time, that is. Or my time, if things get too hectic in the morning. So it may be tomorrow morning your time after all."

"How about I just expect a call when I get one?" Blake offered, and she laughed.

"Good idea," she agreed. "Go get some sleep, all right? I'll talk to you soon."

"Will do," he promised. "Have a good day."

"Goodnight," she returned, disconnecting the call. Blake smiled to himself as he heaved his body from the sofa and trudged across the hallway to his bedroom. He stood by the decisions he had made that day, but speaking to her had made him a lot more confident in his convictions, whilst also reminding him not to blame people for things that were completely out of control. In other words, she had calmed him right down. He sighed slightly, thinking how useful it would have been had he been able to reach her before the argument with Chase. Still, what was done was done, and at least he was no longer torn in two. He supposed he ought not to complain, after all.

* * *

**A/N: **Gah, I don't know why the last few chapters have all ended really weirdly! I'll try to fix that from here on in, although I can't promise it for sure. Hope you liked it anyway, and I'll hopefully have more up soon!


	8. I Could Have Danced All Night

**A/N: **At this point I have to admit I'm going to deviate slightly from the movie timeline. Well, not really deviate so much as extend. Between Andie's expulsion and the night of the fundraiser/the Streets, it's not clear how much time is meant to pass although my guess is maybe a week, ish? But for the purposes of this fic it's going to be a little longer – around three weeks, to be exact. But since it's not specified in the film I think I can just about get away with it! Oh, and you get to meet Rosie too. The chapter title comes from the name of the song, _I Could Have Danced All Night_, from the musical _My Fair Lady_.

* * *

"Yeah, I'll see you at one. Ok, bye." Kitty disconnected the call and dropped her cell phone into her purse, smiling slightly to herself at the prospect of lunch with Blake. Her sister sighed loudly from the driver's seat, and Kitty glared sideways at her. "What?" she demanded, her patience already wearing thin after only fifteen minutes in Rosie's company. Her older sister shrugged, face schooled into an innocent expression.

"I didn't say anything," she pointed out with a serene smile. Kitty rolled her eyes, turning to look out of the window. Rosie could keep a straight face through absolutely anything, just one of the things that drove her insane about her sister.

"Good," was her curt reply.

"So what are you wearing to lunch?" Rosie asked in what, coming from anybody else, would be a conversational tone, but Kitty knew better.

"Probably exactly what I'm wearing now, Rosie."

"Where's he taking you?"

"I really don't know."

"What's his name?" Rosie asked with a probing look, and Kitty shrugged her shoulders.

"Does it matter?" she returned flatly.

"Oh come on, Kitty," laughed Rosie easily. "It's just a simple question! You're the one who's been trying to convince me you're not secretly dating someone, and if that's true then why hide who you're having lunch with?"

"Because you forget that I know you, dear sister," Kitty chirped, deciding that the best strategy here was to beat Rosie at her own game. "Don't try to pretend you won't completely take anything I say out of context and turn it into some huge deal."

"Wow, you must **really** like him," smirked Rosie, turning the car into the parking lot outside of her apartment building. "Come and have a coffee and you can tell me how he managed to win you over. I haven't seen you this dreamy over a man since … well, ever, now I think about it."

"I am not dreamy," Kitty corrected her, finding that feigning indifference was harder than usual when it came to Blake.

"Your eyes are glazed and you can't stop smiling!"

"I'm a happy person," she retorted, following Rosie into the building and up the two flights of stairs that led to her apartment.

"So seriously, what's his name?" Rosie asked once more, closing the door behind them and gesturing for her sister to make herself comfortable in the living room. Kitty chewed on her lower lip for a moment, debating how to admit that she had ended up dating Blake Collins when she had known Rosie was interested in him. "When did you meet him?"

"Remember the night of Blake Collins' party?" Kitty reminded her, glad of the excuse to bring his name up.

"Oh, yes," Rosie smirked. "I was popular that night. I felt bad for abandoning you but you were doing your hiding in a corner thing and I couldn't find you to say goodbye. Did you know Blake actually bailed early? I heard his mother having a hissy fit before I left."

"Actually, I –"

"Not that I blame him," continued Rosie, in her stride now and having seemingly lost interest for the time being in Kitty's confession. "Everyone at that party wanted a piece of him – like he's a piece of meat or something. I wanted to find him to tell him how deplorable I found it all, but I didn't have a chance." Kitty snorted quietly to herself, allowing her sister to rant. "And the worst part is I heard he went off with one of them – some woman no doubt trying to muscle her way into his life whether he likes it or not!"

"Well you can ask him how he feels about it over lunch," Kitty put in firmly, and Rosie clamped her mouth shut, staring wide-eyed at her.

"What?" she managed.

"I'm having lunch with Blake Collins," Kitty clarified, closing her eyes and leaning back into the cushions. "And no doubt you'll want to invite yourself along so I'm pre-empting that with the condition that you may only stay for one hour." She cracked one eye and saw Rosie blinking at her in amazement.

"I have to go change!" she suddenly squealed, darting out of the room and into her bedroom. Kitty frowned after her, getting slowly to her feet and moving through the apartment until she was standing outside the bedroom door.

"You're not … mad?" she asked carefully.

"Of course not!" Rosie called back, the sounds of her raiding her closet floating out to Kitty's astounded ears. "I wouldn't get to meet him if it weren't for you!"

"I suppose that's true," Kitty relented, still bemused.

"So how did you two meet? At the party?"

"Uh, yeah – I was hiding out in the gazebo and he came out looking for a little peace and quiet," Kitty told her, and Rosie snorted.

"And instead he got you," she quipped, and Kitty laughed.

"Thanks very much!"

"Well that's really great, Kit!" Rosie insisted, opening her door in a v-necked dress. "What do you think of this for lunch?"

"Isn't it a bit much?" Kitty asked hesitantly, but her sister waved an airy hand.

"No such thing, little sister," she informed her seriously. "Now come on – you'd better change out of that old thing."

"This is my favourite sweater!"

"And it's certainly been well worn," muttered Rosie, shaking her head and tugging Kitty into her room. "I've got a red shirt that would look gorgeous on you with my black skirt."

"Blake won't be expecting us to get dressed up, Rosie," Kitty warned her firmly, groaning as her sister began shoving clothes at her and holding them up against her to check her colouring. "He's coming from work, remember?"

"What, school principals don't wear suits anymore?" Rosie retorted easily.

"Well, ok, they do, but –"

"We are not showing up to lunch with Blake Collins looking like we hopped off of the back of somebody's buggy, Katherine Marie Patterson," Rosie told her sternly, snatching a dark blue sweater out of her sister's hands. "That would make you look washed out."

"Hey, I wear that colour a lot," Kitty complained. "And **seriously**, Blake's not like that. He doesn't like the whole fancy party scene. Well he likes parties, but he likes being surrounded by a few good friends, not three hundred people he never talks to anyway. He's really not going to care what we wear."

"Which is no reason why we shouldn't care," her sister argued, and Kitty sighed, knowing she was fighting a losing battle. "Here – you look good in purple." Kitty eyed the scoop necked blouse suspiciously, but took it from Rosie, along with the aforementioned black skirt and red shirt. "Go try them on while I find you some shoes," instructed Rosie, in full big sister mode. "What would you do without me?"

"Spend a lot less time changing my clothes?"

"I bet Blake Collins doesn't appreciate your smart mouth," Rosie jibed, and Kitty couldn't hold back her snort of laughter.

"Oh, I think you'd be surprised …"

* * *

"Would you stop that?" Kitty demanded in a hiss, leaning away from her sister's touch as Rosie tried to 'fix' her hair for her. "There is nothing wrong with my hair!"

"If you had just let me put a little product in it …"

"It'd take me a week just to get the product back out," retorted Kitty firmly. "All right, there's Blake – I'm not kidding, Rosie: I don't want you to make a fool out of me."

"As if I would," Rosie scoffed, and Kitty glared at her. "What?"

"Promise."

"Fine," Rosie sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically and fluffing her own hair as they crossed the restaurant. "I promise."

"Good," Kitty muttered gratefully, beaming as Blake glanced up from his perusal of the menu and caught her eye with a grin. She had sent him a quick message to warn him about Rosie, and the lack of surprise on his face assured her it had reached him in time. "Sorry we're a little late," she apologised with a grimace as he stood up to greet them, kissing her swiftly on the cheek.

"Not at all," he shook his head with a smile, nodding to Rosie and offering her his hand. "You must be Rosie."

"And you're Blake Collins," Rosie smiled broadly, shaking his hand. "It's so nice to meet you, Mr Collins."

"Oh, please, call me Blake," he told her quickly. "Mr Collins is my father."

"Blake," she echoed, looking pleased. "Thank you so much for letting me join you for lunch," she added as they all took their seats, Blake holding Kitty's chair out for her and the waiter holding Rosie's. "I know I'm intruding."

"It's really not a problem," Blake assured her with a smile. "To be honest Kitty talks about you so much I feel as if I know you."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," Kitty assured him with a sideways glance.

"Well she only just told me about you, so I'll have plenty of questions for both of us," Rosie grinned, thanking the waiter and picking up her menu. Blake raised his eyebrows at Kitty, who merely shrugged with a small smirk as if to say 'I told you so.'

"Can I get you some drinks while you look at the menu?" asked the waiter.

"Just water, please," Kitty asked politely.

"I'll have the same," Blake nodded, and Rosie shrugged.

"Make it three, in that case."

"Shall I just bring a bottle for the table?" the waiter offered, and Blake nodded at him.

"Thank you." The man nodded and took his leave, and Blake smiled across the table at Kitty, who returned it with a slight blush.

"So how did the rest of your trip go?" he asked curiously. He hadn't been able to go and collect her from the airport after all, partly because the Board had scheduled a meeting that he couldn't seem to convince them to change, and partly because Rosie had insisted on meeting her sister that morning anyway. She nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing as she played absently with her cutlery.

"It went really well," she told him, looking pleased. "We got a lot of good research done and we even wrote up the final outline for the article."

"And built stupid ships," Rosie muttered under her breath, causing her sister to shoot her an angry glare.

"Rosie," she snapped warningly.

"What? Oh, come on, Kit," scoffed Rosie, apparently oblivious to her discomfort. "See, our father was in the Navy," she confided to Blake, who raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Whenever he would leave on a tour, he'd leave Kitty with these dumb … build it yourself kits, of the ships he was going to be on, to keep her distracted while he was away. Eventually he ran out of ships and started giving her submarines and old, classic warships instead of the modern ones he went out on. Anyway, after he died she threw a tantrum and broke every last one of them, and ever since she's felt guilty and is trying to collect them all over again."

"Rosie, enough," Kitty warned her, studiously avoiding Blake's surprised glance. "It's not just about guilt – it works the same way it always did: it helps keep me from missing the people who are important to me when I'm not with them." She did look briefly in Blake's direction then, offering him a weak smile.

"Uh-huh, whatever," Rosie waved it off, unaware of what was going on between her two companions. "So Blake, what's it like being Director of MSA? I can imagine it must be so rewarding to work with such talented kids."

"It can be," he nodded, sparing Kitty the embarrassment of discussing what Rosie had just told him any further. "It can also be frustrating, knowing how gifted and lucky they are and seeing some of them just … waste the potential they have. It's not as easy as you might think to get the best out of even the most motivated kids, when they're surrounded by others just as talented. There's a lot of competition, and sometimes kids don't feel they're up to it."

"And how do you handle that? I mean, you try to tell them it's not about who's better, right?" Rosie queried as the waiter appeared with their water and passed filled glasses around to all of them. Blake shrugged.

"Actually it is about exactly that," he corrected her. "At the end of the school year the seniors have a showcase, and scouts from schools and dance companies all over the world attend. The best performers will be offered places, scholarships and jobs."

"Well what about the ones who aren't as good?" Rosie asked, looking scandalised. "Surely they don't end up with nothing?"

"They are, of course, free to apply separately, and audition like everyone else," nodded Blake. "But as talented as all of my students are, there are at least fifty others in the country equally as deserving as each one of them. It's ten percent talent and ninety percent hard work, determination and luck."

"That doesn't sound very fair," sniffed Rosie.

"Well it's a brutal business," Kitty pointed out fairly. "It makes sense that only the best get the best opportunities."

"And all of my students leave MSA with enough experience and skills to get jobs doing something in their chosen path, with a little luck," Blake added.

"Even so, don't you ever feel guilty about it?" Rosie pressed.

"Not at all," Blake informed her, his tone a little insulted, and Kitty grimaced.

"Why not?" demanded Rosie.

"Because that's the choice they made when they auditioned for MSA," he replied coolly. "Nobody joins the school without knowing perfectly well what lies ahead of them as far as finding a job is concerned. Anyone who devotes their life to the study of the arts and expects to turn their passion into their career expects it."

"And I understand your brother is a student there now too?" Rosie asked, seeming to be unaware of how rude she was being.

"Yes," Blake nodded, a brief smile flitting over his face.

"Well of course there's no question as to his future," she commented offhandedly, smirking slightly. "It must be nice for him to be so secure."

"The only reason I'm confident that Chase's future will be bright is because I know how talented he is and how much work he puts into his studies as well as his dance," he answered, a definite edge to his tone now.

"I've heard good things about him," Kitty offered weakly, trying to salvage the situation.

"You're not seriously telling me that anybody's going to refuse Blake Collins' brother? He's set for life," scoffed Rosie.

"I really resent that," Blake told her now, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "It's the same thing everybody said about me when I was a student – that I didn't have to work for my place with the Royal Ballet; that I didn't deserve the roles that were given me, because my parents were big in the world of dance. And the fact is I rehearsed twenty hours more every week than anybody else in the school; I spent hours upon hours choreographing routines in my spare time – I earned my success, Rosie. And Chase has worked hard for his as well, and nothing I've ever done is going to help him in any way compared to how much he's done to help himself."

"No need to get defensive," Rosie muttered, rolling her eyes. "It was just a comment."

"It was an accusation, and it was unfair," Blake corrected her plainly.

"Blake, please," Kitty murmured, but he shot her a hurt look.

"You think it's right that I sit here and be accused of not deserving any of the things I've worked my entire life for?" he asked of her. "You think it's fair that your sister accuse my parents – and now me – of nepotism, just because she doesn't know us?"

"You are taking this far too personally, Blake," Rosie told him, shaking her head.

"It is personal," he retorted, scowling.

"Blake, she didn't mean it the way it sounded," Kitty tried.

"How did she mean it?" he asked, and she sighed.

"Let's not fight over this."

"I'm not fighting with **you**."

"Right now, you sort of are," she told him in an undertone, touching his arm gently. "Please, can we just try to get along?"

"Yes, let's all just forget the last few minutes," proposed Rosie. "After all, if you two are friends now I'm sure we'll be seeing more of one another. I'd hate to have started our acquaintance on a sour note, Blake. I truly didn't mean to sound as insulting as I apparently did."

"You have to understand that I've spent my entire life fighting against the impression that I've had everything handed to me," Blake explained carefully, and she half-shrugged.

"You can't really blame people for thinking it."

"Actually I think I can," he frowned.

"Here we go again," she muttered, shooting Kitty an exasperated glance.

"You're telling me that it's all right for people to assume the worst of my family and of me just because they don't know any better?" he pushed. "You think being completely ignorant is an excuse? I happen to think that we should believe the best of people until they give us a reason to think otherwise."

"Well that's just swell, Blake," Rosie retorted sarcastically. "And easy to say when you come from where you come from."

"I come from the same place as you do."

"But things were always easier on your side of the fence," she pointed out. "That's what comes from having money."

"There you go, making assumptions again!"

"I'm merely pointing out that it's easy for you to preach tolerance when you don't have to live in the same world as the rest of us," Rosie argued. "Kitty, back me up here!" She widened her eyes in surprise, before ducking her head.

"I can see both sides," she hedged, and Rosie snorted.

"Coward," she muttered.

"Rosie, don't," sighed Kitty, glancing up towards Blake. She saw the hurt etched into his features and winced, knowing her inability to stand up to her sister was going to cost her big time. "Blake …"

"No, don't bother," he advised her with a slight shake of his head. The waiter appeared at their table then, smiling broadly.

"Are you ready to order?" he asked, glancing around at them.

"Hmm, I'm thinking I'll try the pork chops," Rosie mused.

"And for you, sir?"

"I won't be staying," Blake informed him, his gaze still fixed on Kitty.

"Blake!" she exclaimed, surprised.

"Thank you," he added, handing his menu to the startled waiter. "Rosie, it has certainly been … enlightening, finally meeting you."

"Blake, don't go," Kitty implored him, but he merely shot her a cool glance, standing and shrugging into his suit jacket.

"I'll call you later," he told her, his eyes shuttered. She sighed and nodded briefly, and he shot Rosie one last look of disgust for good measure before leaving the restaurant. The waiter hesitated for a few moments before clearing his throat.

"I'll just give you another few minutes," he said lamely, escaping quickly.

"What a drama queen," Rosie commented, laughing slightly as she took a drink of her water. Kitty frowned at her then, leaning forward and crossing her arms on the table.

"Don't you think you were out of line?" she demanded.

"Why, because I called it like I saw it?"

"Because you insulted him for no good reason!"

"I was just trying to talk about what he's interested in – his school, his brother …" Rosie trailed off with an innocent shrug, and Kitty groaned aloud.

"You were rude and thoughtless, Rosie!" she complained. "You really hurt his feelings and then you just kept going after it was obvious he was honestly insulted! And then you forced me into a position where I had to hurt him too!"

"If you thought I was wrong you could have just said so," Rosie pointed out.

"If I had done that you would've fought with me," Kitty returned angrily. "And I care about Blake, but I didn't want his first impression of you to be that you were willing to hurt me."

"Who says I was going to hurt you?"

"If I hadn't taken your side you would've dragged up anything you could to make me feel guilty," hissed Kitty. "And Blake's going to be a part of my life now whether you like it or not, so you **will** have to see one another again, and I'd rather he be angry with me for a day now than have him see you hurting me and hold it against you forever."

"You barely even know him," Rosie replied, waving an airy hand in the air. "You'll speak once or twice and the friendship will die out – that's what always happens with people you meet at these parties. They're full of talk about wanting to be friends, but they're more interested in their own crowd and always will be. No, you'd be better forgetting about Blake Collins – who is not the nice man I was told he was, apparently – and focusing on this new boyfriend of yours instead." Kitty blinked then, furrowing her brow.

"I – what?" she asked, sure she hadn't just heard what she thought she had.

"This man you're so gaga over," Rosie elaborated, looking at her as though she were stupid. "When do I get to meet **him**, then?"

"Rosie …" Kitty shook her head, stunned. "I've been dating Blake Collins." Her sister stared at her for a moment, before snorting and shaking her head in amusement.

"Good one, Kit."

"Rosie, I'm not kidding," Kitty informed her, fixing her sister with a serious look. Rosie's smirk faltered and she leaned forwards, her eyes wide.

"Wait … no, you can't be serious …"

"I'm deadly serious, actually!"

"Kit, he's – he's _Blake Collins_!" Rosie exclaimed, as though that were reason enough that this couldn't be true. "What on earth could you two have in common?"

"As it turns out, plenty," Kitty assured her quietly. "And I really like him, Rosie."

"He seems like a complete snob!"

"If anybody was being a snob, it was you! Blake's not like that – he's sweet and funny and **not** like his parents," Kitty added firmly.

"Oh, I'm sure."

"It's true!"

"Let's suspend reality for a moment and say I believe that Blake Collins found you somehow devastatingly attractive and interesting," Rosie began, her expression and tone sceptical. Kitty rolled her eyes at the insult, but allowed her sister to finish. "What could you possibly see in him? You didn't even know who he was until that party!"

"Well I think that's part of what he sees in me," Kitty shrugged. "He likes that I didn't assume the worst of him the way you just did. I just accepted him on face value, and I think that's rare for him. Which will be why he was so hurt just now by my sister, the person I tell him about all the time and who he knows is more important to me than anyone else, acting exactly the way he liked me for not doing."

"As I said, even if that were true, there's no way he's your type."

"Handsome isn't my type?" Kitty pointed out. "Smart, funny and interesting isn't my type? Athletic, fashionable and cultured isn't my type?"

"He's rich!"

"And apparently that's enough to condemn him," Kitty glowered.

"You don't go for men like him, Kit," Rosie sighed with a superior shake of her head. "You go for the ones who are rough around the edges – sometimes a little too rough, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. You go for the weird ones."

"I don't know what you expect me to tell you," shrugged Kitty. "I do like Blake, a lot, and he happens to like me. Or at least he did."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to believe that. I think you're forgetting how well I know you, little sister!"

"No, Rosie, I'm not," Kitty assured her. "But you should know I'm not a kid any more. I can make my own choices, and I can think for myself, and I want Blake in my life. He's so funny, Rosie – I can't remember when I last had this much fun getting to know someone. He's a little shy and he can be reserved sometimes, but he can also be so … romantic. He took me to a party last week before I left – that's where I was on Friday night – and it was maybe the most magical night of my life," she mused. "He was around friends, who were actually perfectly nice people and didn't hold the fact that I'm not even remotely in the same league as Blake against me, and he was relaxed and so sweet all night."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Rosie muttered.

"You don't have to believe me, but I know how I feel," Kitty shrugged. "I danced with him at that party, and Rosie, it was just … Maybe it was partly because he's a professional and he's used to acting it, but I don't think so. It felt like we were the only two people in the world. You know I can't dance to save myself, but I trusted him totally not to let me make a fool of myself, and I managed to relax while doing it – me! I never wanted him to stop dancing with me. Do you know how rare that is for me?" Rosie blinked at her then, looking surprised, and nodded slowly.

"I suppose I do," she admitted. "Jesus, Kit, you're really into him, aren't you?"

"That's kind of what I've been trying to tell you."

"Well I'll be damned," Rosie laughed. "I definitely would not have put you two together!"

"Good thing you're not in charge of my love life then," Kitty retorted.

"I'll apologise next time I see him," offered Rosie reluctantly. "If you'd told me before we came that he was your boyfriend I'd have been more careful."

"I thought you'd have put two and two together!"

"You can never assume that with me," Rosie reminded her, laughing. "Besides, he's really, **really** not your type. It never crossed my mind to think you'd be … well, whatever. It's your life."

"Gee, I do love knowing my big sister is enthusiastic about my happiness," deadpanned Kitty, and Rosie snorted.

"At least I didn't try to seduce him at the table," she pointed out. "Which was not as far out of the realm of possibility as you might think. I think he's arrogant, but damn, he is hot, Kit. And I'm a little pissed you got to him first."

"You two would have killed each other," Kitty reminded her.

"But what a way to go," mused her sister. Kitty laughed aloud, shaking her head.

"You're impossible."

"Right back at you."

"Can I take your order?" their waiter asked, appearing at the table once more. Rosie glanced over at Kitty, her eyebrows raised in question.

"What do you think? You still want to have lunch?" Kitty shrugged.

"Why not?" she replied. "It'll give you a chance to tell me about the guy **you** went home with after Blake's party!" Rosie cringed then.

"I was hoping you'd forgotten."

"You only wish," Kitty retorted, skimming the menu quickly and trying to hide her smile. She was going to have to do damage control with Blake later, and preferably keep them on opposite sides of the city for as long as possible. But actually, she mused as she placed her order, she had expected their first meeting to go a lot worse. Which in retrospect wasn't a very promising sign …

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry it's delayed! But yeah, I had to reshuffle this chapter and the next one, as those two were originally going to be three and it took a bit of work. Hope you enjoyed a glimpse into Rosie and Kitty's relationship, and I'll try to update soon!


	9. Don't Tell Me Not To Fly

**A/N: **This chapter title, _Don't Tell Me Not to Fly_, comes from the famous song _Don't Rain On My Parade_, which a lot of people seem not to realise is actually from a musical: _Funny Girl_. The line continues with: 'I've simply got to,' which I think is also fitting for the theme of this chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

"He's still in a meeting?" Kitty repeated, her face falling as Blake's assistant apologised to her for the third time.

"Yes … I really will make sure he gets your messages, Ms Patterson," the other woman assured her, sounding slightly insulted, as though she thought that Kitty didn't trust her to pass on the missed calls.

"No, I know," Kitty sighed softly. "Thank you. Just remind him I'm waiting for his call back and it's important."

"I'll be sure to," the other woman promised.

"All right, thanks – bye …"

"Goodbye." The line disconnected and Kitty muttered a curse, throwing her cell phone onto her sofa and dropping down alongside it. This was all Rosie's fault, she thought somewhat bitterly, running a hand through her unkempt hair. She hadn't expected the meeting to go well, and if she were completely honest with herself she had imagined it being far worse … but different, she reminded herself. She certainly hadn't foreseen her sister's attitude problem, or at least not for that reason. She groaned as there was a knock at the door, laying her head backwards and closing her eyes.

"Jordan?" she called hopefully. "Can you get that?" There was no answer, and another, more persistent knock. "Jordan!" Kitty cursed under her breath – evidently her roommate wasn't home. She dragged herself through to the hallway, her limbs aching and crying out for sleep, and swung the door open.

"Hi." She blinked in surprise, leaning against the door and eyeing him up and down.

"Aren't you supposed to be in a meeting?" she queried, and Blake shrugged.

"I had Paula tell you that so you wouldn't realise I'd blown off my afternoon until I turned up," he admitted. She managed a weak smile at that.

"That doesn't sound like a very Blake Collins thing to do," she commented.

"No, but then again neither is walking out of a lunch date without a very good reason," he told her, looking apologetic. "I shouldn't have left you there."

"I get that you were mad at Rosie," Kitty nodded. "And I should have taken your side. It's just that she's my sister, you know? I find it very hard to go up against her – at least in front of other people. She drives me insane but I'm still protective of her."

"I understand," Blake assured her. "I'm the same way with Chase."

"I hope she didn't offend you too much." He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

"She's probably right about my oversensitivity on the subject," he confessed. "It's just that I already hear the things she said from so many people in my life. It's refreshing for me to be with you and not have that, and then today she came at me full force, and I just … I overreacted, I think, but I don't deny that I think I had a right to be insulted."

"You definitely have that right," Kitty agreed. "I'm sorry she said those things. She and I had words after you left, if it helps."

"I wouldn't want to cause problems between the two of you."

"She caused the problem," she corrected firmly. "Apparently she hadn't quite understood that we were having lunch with you because I've been seeing you. She was surprised when that came up, and I think had she realised she would have been less aggressive."

"At least we got it out of the way early," he commented with a wry grin. "It could have happened at another of my mother's parties, after all."

"Now that really would have been a sight to see," snorted Kitty, imagining Rebecca Collins' face if Rosie and Blake had gotten into a war like today's over champagne and lobster rolls in her living room. "I almost wish it had happened like that, now."

"Oh, I think I'm already in enough trouble with my mother," Blake reminded her, raising one eyebrow. "She still hasn't forgiven me for slipping out of my own party."

"It was a very bad thing to do."

"I'll be sure to tell her you're a bad influence."

"You don't scare me, Blake Collins," Kitty warned him, and he smiled wanly.

"I hope not," he murmured. "I think I'm quite good at keeping my temper under control when I need to, but … there are times, like today, when I'm not as successful as I'd like to be. I didn't mean to get so angry in front of you."

"How about we call it even?" she suggested. He nodded, his muscles relaxing slightly.

"So … can I come in?" She furrowed her brow.

"Don't you have to get back to school?"

"Technically," he smirked. "As I said, I've pretty much blown off my afternoon already. I thought since I was here anyway we could do something – even if it's just sitting talking. I haven't seen you for over a week, after all."

"Well Rosie and I did stay for lunch, but how about a coffee?" Kitty proposed. "I'm pretty tired and without one I'm not sure I'll be any company at all."

"Then coffee it is," agreed Blake with a nod.

"All right," she smiled, grabbing her purse and coat from the stand just inside the door where she had hung them upon returning from lunch. "There's a place a few blocks from here that has an amazing chocolate fudge cake," she mused.

"Sugar and caffeine – you'll be wide awake in no time," he quipped, and she laughed, closing the door to her apartment and locking it behind her.

"That's the idea," she retorted, smirking at the surprised look on his face. "So what's going on with the studio?" she asked as they made their way to the stairwell and began the descent to the street. "Have the police caught the people responsible?"

"No, and I don't think anyone is optimistic on that score," he sighed. "The school will just have to foot the bill, taking money away from the new facility."

"I'm sorry," Kitty told him, touching his arm lightly. "I know you've been under a lot of pressure and this can't have helped."

"To be honest, it's not the Board that's the problem," he admitted. "They understand, and of course nobody's happy about the cost, but everyone seems to be agreed that the only solution is to get on with it, like it or not. It's more Chase than anything else."

"He's still mad about your expelling Andie?" Kitty guessed, and Blake nodded grimly, opening the door to the street and holding it for her to pass him.

"Mad is a kind description of how he's feeling," he told her, shaking his head slightly. "He completely blames me for the entire situation, even though he and his friends were the ones who caused this. I, of course, thought it would be a good idea to remind him of that, leading to another of our more spectacular arguments in which he accused me of being unfeeling and uncaring about him, in less articulate terms."

"Of course," Kitty half-smiled. "You know he's probably feeling guilty and taking it out on you, don't you?"

"There may be an element of that, but knowing my brother – which I do – he also truly does blame me for expelling Andie. Chase sees the world in black and white. If he wants to do something, like compete in the Streets, he goes ahead and does it, heedless of things like consequences. And if he thinks something's right or wrong, then that's that: there are no shades of grey."

"What do you expect? He's a teenager," Kitty pointed out, and Blake snorted, glancing sideways at her as they wandered along the sidewalk.

"I'm sure I was never as pigheaded as he is."

"Blake, you're **still** as pigheaded as he is!" she laughed merrily. "The only difference is, Chase has his age as an excuse. What's yours?"

"I don't think I'm as bad as all that!" Blake defended himself, but she merely laughed over him once more.

"Oh, of course you are," she told him with a patronising grin, patting him lightly on the arm before laughing again and looping her own arm through his. "In fact if today's little display was anything to go by, you may be worse. Now don't get me wrong, I think Rosie was completely out of line – but really, Blake, if you wanted to correct her assumption that you always got your own way, storming out when you didn't like the turn of the conversation probably wasn't the smartest move."

"I hardly think it's the same," he complained.

"Really? Because it seems to me that you didn't appreciate what Rosie said – and I'm not saying that's not justified, because it is, completely – and so you got angry, and you walked out. That was your way of taking a stand. Chase doesn't appreciate your point of view on the Andie situation, and so he's angry, and he's walking away from you." Blake frowned at his feet as she directed him down a side street towards the little café she had discovered a few months ago.

"You're going to have to start charging me soon," he finally commented, and she smirked. "How did you get to be so wise?"

"I've been the one storming out of the room a few times myself," Kitty shrugged.

"Well you've learned well."

"Thank you," she acknowledged, gesturing to the building just ahead. "This is it."

"Allow me." He once again held the door for her, and she led him into the small but comfortable tea room, making straight for the dessert counter and inhaling sharply.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked, quirking a grin as he joined her.

"It's a cake," he pointed out with a frown.

"It's a triple chocolate fudge cake with buttercream chocolate icing and hot chocolate sauce," she corrected with a stern glance at him.

"So it's probably a very expensive cake," he surmised, and she giggled.

"I wouldn't say _very_ expensive," she hedged. "Just … a normal amount of expensive, for a cake this delicious."

"Should I ask them to cut you a slice or just hand you a fork?"

"You see, it sounds like you're being sarcastic, but I'm not entirely sure what gave you the impression that there was anything ridiculous about that notion," Kitty told him seriously, and he scoffed, nodding briefly at the girl behind the counter.

"I think we'll be ordering a rather large slice of that cake," he told her, and Kitty shot him a huge grin.

"You don't want any?"

"I don't think my arteries would thank me," he declined.

"Your dancer's constitution can't handle it?" she teased him.

"Something like that."

"Director Collins?" They both glanced at the girl behind the counter, who offered them a hesitant smile. "Sorry – I thought it was you. I'm Donna –"

"Wilkins," Blake finished, blinking slightly and nodding. "Of course. How are you?"

"I'm good," she nodded, grinning and seeming to relax when he recognised her.

"Donna was a student last year," Blake explained quickly to Kitty. "I spent a month at the school last semester working with Director Gordon so that we were sure nothing would fall through the cracks when I began officially in August. I thought you'd taken a job in Chicago?" he added, looking curiously at Donna as she cut an impressive slice of cake for Kitty.

"Oh, I had to back out," she admitted, looking a little disappointed. "My mom got sick. Dad hasn't been around for years, and my sister and I are all she's got. Megan's only fourteen so I couldn't really up and leave."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Blake told her sincerely, and she nodded.

"Thanks. She's doing better now, but it's a long road to recovery."

"So why not apply for work here? With your dance talents I'm sure you could teach some out of school classes or do part-time theatre," he suggested, but she shrugged.

"It's competitive out there," was all she said. "Can I get you guys anything else?"

"Oh, I'll need at least a double espresso," Kitty informed her, half-laughing. Blake glanced sideways at her and she shrugged. "Jetlag is definitely kicking in," she admitted.

"I'm amazed you had time to adjust to the time difference before coming back," he told her, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "I'll have a cappuccino, Donna," he added, offering her a quick smile.

"I'll bring them over for you," she nodded, turning to the machine. Kitty took Blake's hand and led him to a table, smiling as he held her chair out for her and barely suppressing her yawn as he took the seat opposite her.

"I'm sorry – I didn't realise quite how tired you were," Blake frowned. "I can cancel the coffees and walk you home if you'd like."

"No," Kitty responded a little too quickly, flushing at his raised eyebrows. "Honestly, all I need is a little caffeine. Besides, I need to stay awake until tonight or I'll really throw my body clock off."

"If you're sure …"

"Positive," she assured him with a smile. "Besides, I wanted to spend time with you that didn't involve trading insults with Rosie."

"I really am sorry about that," he muttered, looking faintly embarrassed.

"And I'm really over it," she promised, laughing. "It wasn't a dig at you, Blake."

"All right," he conceded, smiling slightly himself. Donna appeared behind Kitty and laid their coffees down, along with the large piece of cake, and Kitty inhaled sharply.

"It looks fabulous," she breathed, before glancing over at Blake. "You're sure you won't even have a small piece?"

"Positive," Blake nodded firmly.

"All right," she sighed dramatically as Donna thanked them and moved away. "Your loss."

"And yet I remain fairly confident my life will go on," he deadpanned, earning himself a sarcastic smirk and an eye-roll.

"So what did you cancel this afternoon to watch me eat cake?" Kitty asked, letting out a small whimper of pleasure as she placed the first forkful in her mouth.

"I had someone cover a class for me and rescheduled a staff meeting," he shrugged. "Nothing too urgent, or I wouldn't be here."

"Wow. Way to make a girl feel special, Blake."

"You know what I mean."

"It's so much more fun to pretend I don't, though," she mused, grinning when he shot her a disparaging look. "So, are you busy tomorrow night?"

"I have an after school meeting but after that I'm free," he replied after a moment's thought. "Did you have anything particular in mind?"

"Just that I'd like to see you for more than coffee before I leave again," Kitty shrugged, taking another large bite of her cake and sighing happily. "This cake is honestly amazing, Blake. I can't believe you're not even going to taste it."

"Wait, go back," he instructed, frowning slightly. "You're leaving again?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Didn't I tell you that?"

"Evidently not."

"Oh! I'm sorry," she told him, sighing and squeezing his hand briefly. "Yeah, now that the research is finished Kristen and I need to get the article written, and we're sort of on a deadline. We've tried doing it via email and phone before but it's all a bit of a nightmare really. I'll only be gone Wednesday through Monday, anyway."

"I wish I'd known," he replied, slightly disappointed. "I was going to suggest we take in a concert this weekend."

"I said I was sorry, Blake," she reminded him. "I did warn you this was how it would be. My work means travel, and I love that part of it. And you have to bear with me while I get used to the idea that somebody will actually notice when I'm gone for less than a week. If it's a longer trip, sure, Rosie misses me, and Jordan, but when it's only a few days it usually doesn't make any difference to anybody's life."

"Well it will to mine," Blake admitted in a low voice.

"And that's incredibly sweet," Kitty assured him with a small smile. "And I really will try harder to consider that. But I've made it clear from day one that my work is who I am, and that it comes first."

"I didn't argue with that," he pointed out, something defensive in his tone. "I was merely commenting that I was sorry you weren't around for longer. Did I miss the part in the rules where I'm not allowed to say what I think for fear of making you feel guilty, even when it's not my intention?" Kitty frowned then, leaning across the table and lowering her voice so as not to be overheard.

"Don't you think you're overreacting?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I think you did."

"Why? Because I reminded you that my job is important to me?"

"Because you made it seem as though there's something unreasonable about my wanting to spend time with you," Blake countered. "Unless I've been completely mistaken about the nature of … whatever this is, between us, then I think it's acceptable for me to want that. We are dating, are we not?"

"I thought we agreed not to label this, Blake?" Kitty reminded him, shifting in her seat, and he rolled his eyes.

"Right," he muttered.

"You said you were ok with no commitments!"

"I'm still not asking for a commitment from you, Kitty," Blake corrected sharply. "I'm trying to respect your boundaries, but it's difficult when you keep moving them."

"I haven't moved anything, Blake," she argued firmly. "You've known where you stood."

"I knew your job was your priority, but one moment you're looking for excuses to spend time with me and putting up with the kinds of parties you despise because I have to, and the next you're jetting off – again – without even thinking to mention it to me. It's not about the fact you're going, Kitty," he told her quietly. "It's the fact that you didn't think it was important that I knew about it."

"I forgot!" she exclaimed, glaring at the woman at the next table who shot her a disapproving look. "I told you, I thought you knew. It was a mistake, for crying out loud!"

"I just … I don't need you to commit to the future, Kitty," Blake attempted to explain, not sure he really had the words. "But if we're going to do this in the present then I think we should at least be on the same page about how we feel now, without that putting any pressure on where this may go later. And I don't think that's too much to ask."

"You know I enjoy the time we spend together, Blake."

"Wow," he scoffed, shaking his head and pushing his chair back. "And that's what I've got to go on? That's the level of enthusiasm I can expect?"

"It's starting to feel a lot like you want me to be someone I'm not," Kitty hissed. "I thought we were agreed on keeping this simple and just seeing where it goes, but apparently when you say you're ok with uncomplicated, you don't know how to keep the pressure off!"

"Don't turn this around on me!"

"Well don't expect me to change the huge part of myself that is my work," she fired back. "I resent it, Blake. You've known from the beginning that this is who I am, and you don't get to tell me I can't be myself any more. I'm not like you – I can't just settle down and be content with staying on some kind a plateau. There's too much of life still to experience! I have to get out there and live, and I've never kept the fact that I want to be free to do that a secret, so don't act all offended now!"

"I don't want to stop you from doing what you like, Kitty, but I'd just like it if you considered me enough of a factor to at least tell me what that is," Blake retorted angrily.

"And I told you already, I'm working on it! But you know it's hard for me!"

"Well then let me make it easier," he suggested coolly, standing and walking away from her for the second time that day. Kitty turned to watch him leave, glaring after his retreating back.

"Coward!" she shouted, as the door swung closed behind him, cursing under her breath when he didn't even falter in his footsteps. She turned back to her cake, catching Donna watching her in apparent amazement. "What are you looking at?" she snapped, and the young girl raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Nothing," she murmured, ducking her head quickly. Kitty chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment before letting out an exasperated sigh, kicking Blake's empty chair out into the floor.

"Sit," she ordered, and Donna glanced up, blinking at her slowly.

"Me?" she asked unsurely.

"No, the Pope."

"Ok …" Donna came around the counter and hesitantly lowered herself into the chair, clearing her throat softly. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Something to beat Blake Collins around the head with," Kitty suggested, glowering, and a small smile flickered over Donna's features.

"It seemed like quite the argument," she ventured, and Kitty snorted.

"He's a royal pain in the ass," she proclaimed angrily. "How did you possibly put up with him every day?"

"Not everyone handles things the same way," shrugged Donna. "It's like when we were under pressure to make our senior showcase perfect. Students like Nora Clark, from the year above me, she just threw herself into it and it all came together, no matter what. And the staff at MSA understand students like her. But for me it wasn't as easy as that. When she's stressed, she pulls it out of the hat. When I'm stressed, I freeze up and can't string two moves together. Director Collins once told us that dancing was a lot like having a relationship – when it gets tough, you either find the perfect solution, or you can't find one at all. When you can't find a solution, he said you don't give up on it – you walk away for a little while, and distract yourself, until you can distance yourself enough from the routine to see it from a fresh angle."

"I assume you're making some kind of brilliant point here that I'm too angry to be able to understand?" Kitty guessed wearily, and Donna laughed gently.

"Maybe he just needs to clear his head and look at your problem from another perspective," shrugged Donna. "That seems to be his way of dealing with things, so …"

"He'd kill me if he thought I was taking advice from one of his students," Kitty informed the younger girl with a crooked grin. "But you're probably right. I'm a little hot-tempered at the best of times, and today has just been … one of those days."

"Can I be blunt?" Donna asked, and Kitty raised her eyebrows.

"This hasn't been blunt yet?"

"Director Collins is a good man," Donna told her. "He really cares about his students, and he's a world-class dancer, not to mention the best teacher we ever had. I think he could use some happiness in his personal life. But if you two can't even have a slice of cake without fighting, maybe he's not the only one who needs to step back for a while."

"All right, I think we're moving into personal territory," Kitty told Donna sharply, but the waitress merely shrugged as she got to her feet.

"He did a lot for me," she explained. "That job in Chicago? He's the reason I got it. I owe him a lot, and it's obvious to me he's stressed with the school fundraiser coming up. If I can make even a bit of a difference to that, I feel like I should try."

"Blake's tougher than you give him credit for."

"Maybe," Donna agreed quietly. "I'd better get back to work – shall I cancel his coffee?"

"I suppose you'd better," Kitty replied coolly, pointedly looking away from the girl. She had told her to sit down, hoping for some kind of vindication – maybe thinking that a former student would confirm that Blake was some kind of a controlling tyrant. But the loyalty from a girl who had only known him for a month had really thrown her, and now she was beginning to feel guilty. He was right – she hadn't considered him in her plans; she had just assumed he would be ok with them. Which she thought they had agreed he would be, she reminded herself. She sighed as Blake's words came back to her. _It's the fact that you didn't think it was important that I knew about it_. She nodded jerkily to Donna as the girl placed a steaming mug in front of her, wrapping her hands around it and frowning thoughtfully into its depths. She hated being wrong. But maybe the way to fix it was, in fact, to do what Donna had suggested, much as she resented being given romantic advice by a teenager. If what Blake needed was space, then space was what he would get.

* * *

**A/N:** Ok so it's INSANELY overdue, and I'm sorry! But I just had way too much going on to even turn on my computer for more than 5 minutes at a time this past month. Anyway it's a little dramatic, I know, but I like the analogy that Kitty is like Chase, and so her relationship with Blake is going to require hard work, and not just fall into place. And don't worry, Kitty's commitment issues will be explained in the coming chapters. Hope it didn't disappoint after the long wait, and reviews are always appreciated!


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